Smith
S—you good?
Cravero
Mmhmm.
Smith
Alright. I am, uh, Kalynn Smith, a UCF[1] undergraduate. I am interning for the GLBT[2] History Museum of Central Florida. With me is Geoffrey Cravero. Um, we are conducting an oral history with Orlando City Commissioner Patty Sheehan in her offices, uh, in, um, [smacking sound] Orlando, Florida, on April 11th, 2017.
Uh, Commissioner Sheehan, thank you…
Sheehan
Thank you.
Smith
…for agreeing to speak with us today.
Sheehan
Sure.
Smith
Um, I am currently working on processing your collection…
Sheehan
Mmhmm.
Sheehan
There’s a collection?
Smith
And…
Sheehan
[laughs].
Smith
Yes [laughs].
Sheehan
I didn’t realize that. Okay.
Smith
Yeah. It’s, uh, mostly artifacts…
Sheehan
Okay.
Smith
…and, um, a couple like journal entries. And, um, a few things like that.
Sheehan
Mmhmm.
Smith
And we just had a few questions regarding, um, uh, specific artifacts and…
Sheehan
Okay. Sure.
Smith
…some personal biography.
Sheehan
Alrighty. Absolutely.
Smith
So, um, first, if we could start off by, um, having you state your name and tell us a little bit about where you’re from.
Sheehan
Sure. I’m Commissioner Patty Sheehan of—I’m in Orlando, Florida. I’ve been in office since 2000. So I’ve been doing this for 17 years. Um, and I’m well-known for my advocacy of pedestrian safety, walkable neighborhoods, um, Main Street districts, which are blowing up and very exciting around Orlando, and pedestrian safety, which I got death threats for my first couple of years in office. And ended up being one the hardest things I’ve ever done. Putting sidewalks within a mile of ele—every elementary school. So people think that sometimes issues like LGBTQ[3] can be difficult. You’d be surprised what things people will threaten you on and everything like that. So it’s not always easy being an elected official [laughs].
Sheehan
Oh, gosh. I mean I was raised Catholic. So, you know, this was something that was worse than being a murderer. So I really hid who I was. I struggled very much with it. I had a really hard time. There were times I was suicidal. And I wanted to end it all because I just couldn’t accept who I was. Um, I had a very difficult time. I’ve—I’ve given a story to, um—to, you know, the folks that talk about—about suicide among young LGBTQ people because I think it’s really important. The, uh, It Gets Better Project. Because I think it’s important for young people to realize that they may struggle. I struggled. Um, and it, you know—just because it’s—maybe it’s somewhat easier now to come out and be who you are, we still have a long way to go. Um, there’s still children being bullied in school. There are still children who are not being accepted for who they are in terms of transgender issues. People can still be fired from their jobs for who they are.
So, you know, I get some blowback for those folks who say, “Patty, why can’t you just be quiet? Why can’t you just blend in? Why can’t you just—why can’t we just have unity?” Well, that’s usually what’s said by the dominant culture when they want to put you down. “Oh. Well, Black Lives Matter and the LGBTQ community and all these people are making it difficult for us.” No. You’ve actually made it difficult for us. And we’re just trying to live and be who we are. And it’s re—something that’s really, really, um, offensive to me and—is this notion somehow that we have to bury who we are. “Oh. Ya’ll have the right to marriage. Why can’t you just be quiet?” Um, you know, there’s always been this desire to keep the LGBTQ people in the closet. And I find that very offensive.
Uh, I was talking to, eh—years and years ago, I was talking to, um, uh, an African-American activist. And she says, “Well, you know, you’re difference is—is different from mine because you can hide yours.” And I asked her, “If you could hide your difference, would you? Would you hide your skin color if you could?” And she looked at me. And it was an “aha moment” for her. And I can’t even believe—I don’t even know where that came from out of me. ‘Cause I’m not even—I’m not—I don’t think—I don’t consider myself that eloquent.
But Pat—then people that—“why don’t you just hide who you are?” Well, you know what? When you’re work—when you’re at work with people and they all talk about where they went on—you know, on vacation or on—what they did on the weekend, you know it—it’s[sic] puts you in a very difficult situation. When I was a younger woman, I was, you know, attractive woman. “Where’s your boyfriend?” Where—you know, there is—there is—people don’t understand because they’re straight that these are things that they take for granted. And these are things that we can’t—couldn’t talk about back then.
So I think there’s still a long way to go. I’m—I’ve been very, um, vocal since the Pulse tragedy, uh, that this happened to the LGBTQ community. And even our allies—some of our allies have gone back on me and said, “Why can’t you just be nice? Why can’t you just be unified?” And I’m like, “You can’t erase us. Yes. There were straight people that died at Pulse, too. But that doesn’t mean that we have to erase who we are to make it okay. Um, they were—they were targeted because they were young, they were gay and they were Latin—you know, QLatinx. They were people of color. And they were straight allies. And there—we shouldn’t have to erase who they were in order to make it okay for everybody else. Because we do have to take, as a culture, responsibility for how we te—how we treat LGBTQ people.”
In our churches—one of the most amazing things that happened to me after Pulse happened, um—after we’re dealing with all the issues of the tragedy, I had come here to City Hall and Mayor [Teresa] Jacobs’s office called me. And I went running over there. And she—and it was a—it was a group of clergy. And they were having a press conference. And they were talking about, “We do not agree with the Baptist Church. [inaudible] wanna say their name. That’s coming here to demonstrate at the funerals of these victims.” They had never dealt with that. I’ve been dealing with that for, you know, 30 plus years. I understand what it’s like to deal with hateful people that carry signs that say, “God hates fags.” This was their first time of dealing with it. And our religious leaders came out and said, “This is not who we are.” I could not have been more proud. And felt so amazing during that time. That’s unity. Not telling me to shut up about who I am [sighs].
SmithSheehan
[laughs]. When I first came out, I was 21. And like I said, I really, really struggled. And it wasn’t a matter of my parents supporting me. I had moved out at 17 because I was different and there were issues that I couldn’t deal with my parents. And, uh, so I basically started—I mean I started taking care of myself at 17. And so it wasn’t any reason for me to, you know—to—to hide who I was. Other than the fact that, um—I mean I—I wanted to have a relationship with my family. And I thought that that was gonna be part of it. And it—it got to be more and more pressure for me because my sisters were old enough to go out. And I said, “Oh. I was at Park Avenue Club or I was at this club over the weekend.” And they’re like, “Well, we didn’t see you. We were there.” And the lying just got to take such a toll on me.
And at 21, I finally came out. And [laughs] my mother’s Italian and Catholic. She said to me, “Well, we’re a family and we’re gonna stick together. But you have to understand you’ve chosen a very difficult lifestyle. And—and you can’t be a teacher now. You realize that.” ‘Cause I had wanted to be an art teacher. She goes, “You—you—you’ll be a bad influence to children.” I was like, Wow. You know? Although, the weird thing was I did change to—to journalism. Um, and I went back to art eventually.
Um, but I accepted that. And s—ashamed to s—I’m not ashamed. I mean that was a pressure that was put on me. And I accepted that. And I—and I hope that young people now realize they don’t have to accept that. You’re not a bad influence because you’re LGBTQ. You’re not a bad person because you’re LGBTQ. Um, there are lots of people in this community who’ve made a lot of great contributions now that were not swept under the rug and—and forced to keep—stay in the closet. So I’m proud of many contributions of—of my community.
Um, I was—it—we just watched—I just watched—I’m in the process—like I had recorded it because I couldn’t watch it. When We Rise.[4] And I remember Cleve Jones. And I remember [inaudible]. I remember these people who—who paved the way for people like me. And I think it’s important to tell our history because we tend to forget it. And I think that’s why this project is so important. And why oral history projects are so important. Because the dominant culture does want to erase us. They do want to erase people in the movement. The Women’s Movement. They do want erase people in the African-American Civil Rights Movement. Um, because it makes them feel com—more comfortable who they are. Because they don’t want to accept the fact that they did things that were wrong. There’s a whole movement to erase the Holocaust. And the fact that it happened to the Jewish community. Because the dominant culture isn’t comfortable with dealing with the fact that this happened and some of them were complicit with it.
So I’m not about making people comfortable when they do the wrong thing. And if they blow back on me—this has always been a risk for me. When I was at the Florida Department of Agriculture and I stood up for people in my office because they were people of color or people of Jewish faith, I was—I was punished for it. As a—you know, I—I was denied management positions because of my s—because of standing up for others. I was up for—I finally was up for a promotion at work. And, um, I had gone to the March on Washington for LGBTQ rights in I think it was 1992.[5] ‘Cause I went to—I went to a couple of them. There was one in the ‘80s and one in the ‘90s. And I can’t remember the exact date. But I’d gone to the—to the second march. And, um, I took—I took my vacation time. And I happened to be in the back of a photograph. I wasn’t even the—the focus of the photograph. I didn’t even know the person was taking it. I was basically getting out of a train to go to Washington[, D.C.]. And I was in the background. And someone took—took that picture out of the paper, faxed it to my division director in Tallahassee[, Florida] and made sure I got demoted. That was my life.
And when I called to complain, ‘cause I had actually helped the State of Florida deal with a lot of personnel issues. I was, you know, the person that they sent around to help deal with it—go—as part of my management training. They said, “We’re sorry, Patty. There’s nothing we can do to protect you. We can protect women. We can protect minorities. But we can’t protect you because your class isn’t protected.” So I’ve lived this. This has happened to me. And I think it’s important, you know—I’m not bitter. I mean I get better. I don’t get bitter, I get better. It was a hard thing to deal with at the time. And I was angry. But, um—but I had to find a way to persevere. And eventually, the manager that—the—the—the guy higher up that demoted me ended up getting in trouble for bad behavior at work [laughs]. And, uh, I had a new boss. And I came out to him. He goes, “Why—why are—why are people so reluctant to let me, eh, promote you?” I said, “Because I’m gay.” He said, “Well, that’s stupid.” I’m like, “Well, I know that.” He goes, “You have to understand that not everybody is as comfortable with your sexual orientation as you are.” I said, “It’s not my job to make them comfortable.” He said, “Touché.” And he promoted me. And I thought, Wow. That’s really cool.
So, you know, there are allies all along the way that you’re gonna find if you’re willing to stand up for who you are. And it wasn’t easy. Um, I’m—that day that I had to meet with that—with that manager, I was throwing up. I was so—so nervous. Um, when I first ran for office, I was so nervous whenever I had to talk because I was, you know—I was afraid of how it was gonna come up. And I was at a debate one time, um, gosh, at the Audubon Park Covenant Church. Because I was running for office and there was a bunch of us. And, uh, one of the—one of the people stood up and said—um, one of the candidates—one of the—the question, which was clearly aimed at me, was, “Should candidates make an issue of their sexual orientation?” And one of the candidates—candidates stood up and said, “Well, I have a wife. And I have a child. But I don’t think anybody should flaunt their lifestyle.” And I got up there and I said, “Well, it’s very interesting. ‘Cause when my opponent says about his life, it’s charming. When I talk about my life, it’s flaunting.” And a hundred and fif—fifty people in that church that were sitting there listening to that got it. And there were people that ran after me and apologized for that question.
So it’s not always easy to make change. And I lost that 1996 election. But I won the next one. So it is, you know—for me, and I think for our movement, it is incremental change. And it’s not easy. And it is something that you have to fight for. But it’s not something that I’m ever willing to—to lay down. And I won’t until the day I die. Um, and the day I die I will be laid at the feet of all the Pulse victims because that’s where I bought my cemetery plot in Greenwood [Cemetery]. I wanna watch over—I wanna watch over those kids forever. Because that’s been—that’s—that’s a part—that’s a part that’s interwoven in my soul. You know? That they were viciously attacked for who they were. And we need to keep telling that story. Because of people are already trying to—they call it “straight-wash” it. But, you know? It’s—it can’t be. We have to talk about how hatred killed them and how we have to be better people as a result of it to honor their memory [sighs]. Sorry [laughs].
SmithSheehan
What?
Smith
They’re in your collection.
Sheehan
[sighs] I can’t remember [laughs].
Smith
Oh. [laughs] That’s okay.
Sheehan
It’s Paul and—and Brian?
Smith
Mmhmm.
Sheehan
Gosh. I—I don’t know. Really? Maybe they got stuck in there by accident. Because Brian was friend of mine. Um, he helped me with, um—with—he was one of the original founders of, um, what was then Orla—Orlando Regional Pride. And then I knew him. Um, uh, so that’s how I knew Brian Arbogast de Hubert-Miller. Um, and we used to call him “Alphabet Man” because he kept adding, you know—it’s part of his culture. [laughs] He was like, “You know, I’m—I’m Hispanic. So we have a lot of names.” And so he kept adding names. And we were—we laughed and called him “Alphabet Man”.
Um, I don’t know how Paul’s came into—to be in my collection. I don’t know. Um, uh, you know, I—eh, during the Names Project, we would—we—we, uh,—we were, uh, carrying names of people who had passed of—of HIV[6] and AIDS.[7] But those weren’t the names that I carried. ‘Cause—‘cause I don’t think either one of them—no. I can’t remem—I don’t think either one of them passed from AIDS.
Um, but, um, there—there was an i.d. tag though that I had that I carried that was, um, a—a, um—it was, uh, from LCN Express.[8] And it had my name. And I had it made. Maybe that’s how the i.d. tag accidentally got in my collection. Because we all had—I had an i.d. tag made in case I was a victim of violence at the march that they would know who I was. So it had—it had my name, it had the LCN Express, was the affiliation of the group that I was with, and it had my address on it. It was basically dog tags in case anything happened to me. But that’s the only dog tag that I can recall that, uh—that I had from that time. That and—and one that was fabulous that had sequence on it. ‘Cause, you know, it had a rainbow on it. It was beautiful [laughs]. I am who I am [laughs].
That’s crazy. I—you—that’s so funny. You know? I don’t know how those got in there.
Smith
Yeah. We had no idea either. We just kind of…
Sheehan
Wow.
Smith
…figured we’d ask.
Sheehan
Nope. I don’t know. Yeah. Okay. What else you got?
Sheehan
Michael’s March [laughs]? I have no idea [laughs].
Smith
That’s okay.
Sheehan
Yeah.
Smith
It’s like a letter or something. And it’s—you have it titled “Michael’s March”.
Sheehan
Oh. That’s from LCN. Okay. Um, back, um, in the ‘80s, there was a big division between men and women in the community. The—the LGBTQ and the gay community. And, um, after the men started getting sick, they were moving in with the lesbians. The lesbians were actually taking care of them. And LCN had kind of been an organization for women—was women’s only space. And a lot of the men were really offended by that. And I’m like, “Look. You guys call us ‘fish’ and you’re really mean to us. So you know? We—we have our own space. You know? That’s our thing.”
But when the—the men started getting sick, a lot of us start—you know? A lot of women started taking care of them. And—and—and everything. And the community really started coming together. So when we went to the March on Washington—and I—again, I can’t remember which one. It was Michael Wanzie’s letter I’m pretty sure [sniffs]. Um, that was Michael’s—that—I think that was Michael’s story, um, that he had submitted to LCN, um, about his partner dying. I think that’s the letter that you’re talking about. Um, and Lou Tozer and a bunch of the folks that were really involved with the LCN were very much touched by it. And wanted to include it in our newsletter even though we only allowed women to write for the newsletter. So that—think I’m remembering that right.
But I would get into it with Michael a little bit later because, you know—because they would—they—again, there were these issues about allowing women into the what they called at the time gay community services. And representing the rights of women. And it wasn’t easy with the gay men either sometimes. You know? And I mean they weren’t sensitive to women’s culture. And they weren’t sensitive to—to our issues. And I was glad over time that they added GLBCS. You know? Gay Lesbian Bisexual Community Services. And now, you know, we’ve added T[9]. And we’ve—we’ve—we’ve been more inclusive. But that wasn’t easy. And there’s been many times when Michael and I tangled because, you know, we said, “Hey. You know? You gotta include women’s issues, too.”
So—but Michael’s March was about losing his, um—his partner. His reaction to the march, which was, um, very emotional. Um, and again, I’m trying to remember which year were—was the year the [NAMES Project] AIDS [Memorial] Quilt was unveiled. In ’87 or, gosh, ’90. I—I n—I need to do my research because I can’t remember when the marches exactly happened. But, uh, I—I can get back to you on that. But the first march, um, I believe was the one where they unveiled the AIDS Quilt. You’ll have to go back and look.
But that was the year that Whoopie Goldberg[10] was the first person to walk out. And she was one of the first actors to actually take a stance on HIV and AIDS. And that was, uh, very emotional for a lot of us ‘cause we lost so many of our friends. I mean I’ve lost, eh—between the age of 20 and 30, I lost easily half my friends. Um, a lot of the entertainers. A lot of the—the drag queens were the first to go. Um, you know? All of a sudden, it’s—everyone started getting sick. They called it Gay-related Immune Deficiency. GRID. And all of us were t— completely panicked and freaked out. And by the time they finally had the test, of course, I took it. Because I was, you know—I was a bad girl. And I was going, Man. Do I have it? And I didn’t. You know? But lesbians had a—had a, you know, lower submission rate and everything like that.
Um, a lot of my friends were dying. Um, my closest friend that died was Gary Bailey. And he was my friend and rock. And I mean I just loved that man. And, um, you know, I just couldn’t believe he was sick. And then ended up passing away. And then there was Chuck [inaudible]. And it was just—it was a time when, um, we were going to funerals. Steve Marnier[?]. He was my political, um, mentor. I mean anytime I wanted to bounce something off Steve. And every time that I wanted to do something—he was like one of the few men that really got women’s culture and understood the need for everybody to work together and everything like that. So whenever I really wanted, uh, someone as a sounding board, I would go to Steve. When I ran in 1996, he had gotten really, really sick. And he ended up getting it really early. But he had taken care of himself, so he had it for a while. But in—in ’96, when I ran the first time, um, I had gone to visit him in the hospital and he asked me to pin one of my campaign pins on his—on his hospital robe. And, uh, he died like a couple days later. And, um, I’ll never forget that. So, you know, I mean I wasn’t there when he died, but I was there when gra—when Gary died.
And to watch someone pass away that you really care about, and they’re so young, and it’s so unnecessary, you just want the government to do something and to help. And there’s—n—no matter how much we marched, no matter how much we did, no matter—I mean I remember we had—the first time I stood on the AIDS Quilt, and it took up the entire mall. It was a football field of people who were dead. People we had lost. And, uh, the, uh—the amazing thing about the quilt was it actually—they—they designed it so that it was the size of a—of a funeral plot. You know? So you could really get a sense that these were people. It wasn’t like just a name written in a column or something like that. It was the physical size of a person.
And, uh, yeah—so I—I think—and—and a lot of that’s forgotten. Young people go, “Oh. What’s the big deal? What’s the—why do you guys get so upset? A—AIDS is—AIDS is survivable.” But there was a time when it wasn’t. And it wasn’t that long ago. And most of us who are a little older remember that. But that’s why we’re so passionate about making sure that, um [sniffs]—that people don’t forget that. Because it was a horrible time. And, um, you know, yeah. It’s become a chronic disease. But it’s not something I would wish on anyone. And I still have friends who are suffering. You know? And I still have friends who are dying. They just die from other opportunit—or oth—other opportunistic diseases. There are some people who are still in the closet about having HIV and AIDS. There are still people who are dying of AIDS. And, uh, uh, you know? Um, we gotta keep telling that story, too. But Michael’s March was about how he lost his partner. And, uh, yeah. It’s a very poignant story. It’s lovely. Even though Wanzie and I have had our issues over the years. Um, I thought that was absolutely a lovely story.
But, yeah. That’s when I was with LCN Express. That was a women’s newsletter. And I remember my friend, Joel[?] always saying to me, he’d go, “You are a separatist.” And I’m like, “You know? You have to remember though that we were women feminists. And we also had women’s culture. We—we had a double whammy. We were gay and we were lesbians. You know? We were—I mean we were—we were women. We were gay, but we were also women. We also had the—we also had to deal with the discrimination that came along with being women. And men telling us, “All you need is a good man.” And all that stuff. And the sexual harassment that I experienced as a young woman. And, you know, it—so we had to have the—a space where we could express that. Where we could kind of come to terms with that. Where we could be supported in community, too.
And, you know—and—and, uh, after the marches and after HIV and AIDS, we really kind of gelled as a community. But it was a process. So yeah. There was a while when I enjoyed women’s culture. And I kind of did the separatist thing. But I also evolved to realize that we all had to work together because if we didn’t, you know, we were—we were gonna die. And the guys were dying at alarming rates. And we all needed to come together to—to do what we could to stop AIDS. And, you know, to get education. And to get testing. You couldn’t even get—you couldn’t even get reasonable, affordable testing. Those all came as a result of fighting for that for many, many years [phone rings].
SmithSheehan
Is that Chase? Chase Smith?
Smith
Um, all we have is a Charles and then his last initial. S.
Sheehan
What do you got? I don’t know what you guys have. I need to go over there and check out what you’ve got [laughs].
Smith
[inaudible].
Sheehan
I mean it could be Chase. But…
Smith
I believe it is, um, rose pedals and a candle.
Sheehan
Mm. I mean, um, that might have been from the last AIDS, um, uh, vigil that we had. And, um, Chase was the aid to—to May—a—Chase was my longtime aid for many, many years. And he was also an aide to Mayor [Teresa] Jacobs. And, um, he never disclosed his status to us until he was dying. And, um, I don’t think his family wanted anybody to know that he was HIV-positive. And this just happened a few years ago. I’m almost reluctant to—you know, to do it because, um—because he didn’t want anybody to know he was HIV-positive. And it killed him. He ended up getting, uh, lymphoma, which shouldn’t have killed him. But because his—he had just contracted it and his viral load was really high. It killed him like that.
And, um, you know, here—here’s someone who was openly gay, an aide to, you know, me and Mayor Jacobs, um, who wasn’t comfortable enough to ask for help. So that’s why I put Charles S. Because I didn’t want people to know who he was. Because I didn’t—wasn’t sure that [sniffs]—mm—that he would want that known. But you know? There he was. He never came to me. I wish he had come to me. I could’ve—I’d have go—I would have walked him right over to OIC[11] to Doctor [Edwin] DeJesus. I’d have gotten the best care I could. But he didn’t feel comfortable telling me ‘cause he was ashamed. And, um, you know? Shame is a killer in my world. You know? I’ve seen it kill too many good people. We have to be—e—e—even though he knew. I mean he was an aid. He knew. All of these resources. He was too ashamed to take them up for himself.
So the rose pedals and the, uh, candle were Chase. And, um, I miss him. He’s the reason those are—those pink bunnies are all around—I put those pink bunnies all over town [laughs] [sniffs]. Um, because he loved playing the Easter Bunny for kids. He was just a lovely, helpful, decent man who, uh, had his secrets. And I remember when he was dying—and it happened really quick[sic]. Um, Mayor Jacobs came to me and she goes, “Is he HIV-positive?” I’m like, “I don’t know. He didn’t disclose to me.” And I—that’s—I still struggle with that. I mean, you know? He really didn’t—he didn’t tell me until he was on his deathbed. But, um, yeah. That’s my boy, Chase. So, yeah. I’m—I’m actually delighted that’s part of my collection [clears throat].
Smith
Good.
Sheehan
Yeah [sniffs].
Smith
Um, what type of problems...
Sheehan
I can’t believe you got—where’d you guys get this stuff? I mean what do you guys go around following me? This is weird [laughs]. I’m kind of freaking out a little bit [laughs]. I’m like—I need to like—I need to like say, “Here [laughs]…” That’s interesting.
Smith
I think it was, uh, donated in 2002. If that helps at all.
Sheehan
[sighs]. He didn’t die that—wait a minute. No. That couldn’t have been because he didn’t die then.
Smith
Huh.
Sheehan
I need to get—I need to get together with you guys and make sure this stuff is in the proper s—sequences and stuff. Because this is just kind of a little strange. Yeah. Because that’s the only Charles S. I could think of would be Chase. And the—and the rose pedal and the candle would have been from the AIDS—but that wouldn’t have been from that long ago. So we may—might need to go over and make sure that everything’s in the proper sequence and stuff like that. Yeah.
Smith
Okay.
Sheehan
I’ll—I’ll—I’ll sit down with you. ‘Cause I want to make sure it’s right. ‘Cause it—‘cause you know as it happens some type of historical stuff. You know? It—it’s not quite in the right slot and everything like that. So I’ll—I’ll…
Smith
Yeah.
Sheehan
…go over it with you. Yeah.
Smith
Well, thank you.
Sheehan
Yeah. I’ll—I’d be glad to do that. ‘Cause it shouldn’t have been from 2002. Gosh. He didn’t even die until [sighs]—I think he’s been dead since 2013 or something. 2—2012 I think he died. Yeah. Yeah.
Sheehan
Uh, ’96 was the hard one. ’96 was the one where, um, half the candidates running were gay. I was the only one who was out and open about it. Um, one of the candidates used my sexual orientation against me everywhere she went. And then she ended up going to the runoff. And then she ended up getting defeated because they actually put, um, flyers in—as an insert in all the Orlando Sentinels and all the, um, mailbox—and all the, uh, boxes. And said that Patty Sheehan lost ‘cause she’s a lesbian. And this other woman needs to lose ‘cause she’s a lesbian, too. She was—that’s how she got outed. And where they didn’t s—insert them into the papers and all the mailboxes and all the paper boxes downtown, they threw ‘em all in the intersections in these little bags. Outing this other person. And, um, she came to me and says, “What do I do?” And I’m like, “Well, you know, you used it against me. That’s kind of karma [laughs]. You know? But what you’ve gotta say is discrimination is wrong and that you’re willing to stand up for other people.” And that didn’t happen. It just became an ugly food fight.
And that’s the thing. When someone attacks you, it’s the first response to get angry. But that’s what they want. They want you to get angry and frothing at the mouth and looking crazy. And what I’ve learned is I have to, you know, take a step back and take a deep breath and think before I speak, which isn’t always easy sometimes. Sometimes I still get my hackles up. Usually, that’s when I get in trouble. Um, um, because you—you’re—you’re not just speaking for yourself. You’re speaking on behalf of a community, whether you like it or not. And, um—and it’s important to do that in a way that educates and not what I—what I always call “teachable moments”.
So in ’96, I lost. And I said, “Well, you know what? I only lo—I only lost that election—I only missed that runoff by like 75 votes.” And I threw that l—I threw that together with my friends in like 90 days. I said, “What if I actually worked hard and learned the issues a little bit better that people were criticizing me that I didn’t know about? And what if I really applied myself?” So for the next four years, I got all involved in—in—in city business. And got to know about the codes. And came to—to be president of my neighborhood association. Talking about things like duplexes and, you know, sidewalks. And all those things that were really impacting the neighborhoods. And got to know the other neighborhood leaders. And I ran in 2000 and I beat the incumbent. And I won. So it can be done. And I wasn’t just—even though the newspaper in 1996—they had a huge headline on Election Day, “Gay Candidate Race on Ballot”. Um, yeah. They just ma—they all—they made it all about me being gay. They didn’t make it about any of my other stances on anything. Why I was really running, which was historic preservation, and saving neighborhoods and those kinds of things. Because there was all these teardowns happening. Making better quality of life in our neighborhoods. Business. Those were the things that I ran on. But all they wanted to talk about was me being gay.
And then I said, “Okay. All these people now know me. And they know I care about these issues. And I’ve known them from their neighborhoods and all that. Let’s see how this works out.” And it worked out very well for me. I won. And I’ve won every election since. And I’ve been through redistricting. And every time I go through redistricting, my colleagues try to put me in a more conservative area, thinking they’re gonna get—I’m gonna get beaten. And I just get higher and higher, you know, percentages [laughs]. So you know? I’m kind of the middle kid. I get picked on. I’ve represented more of this city than any other commissioner ‘cause they keep moving me around, hoping to get rid of me. And the bottom line is I’m not going anywhere. I’m, you know—I serve at the pleasure of my constituents. They’re my boss. And, uh, you know, I try to do the best job I can for them.
And I think it’s important to be an advocate for LGBTQ issues, but I also have to balance that with, “Yes. I care about your issues, too.” But what really offends me is when people say, “Well, you’re gay so you can’t represent me.” That’s not fair. And that’s not true. Um, I think being an a—being an LGBTQ activist has made me a better commissioner because I’m not afraid to fight for what I believe is right. Regard—if that—regardless if that’s sidewalks or if that’s historic preservation. Or if it’s proper infill development. Or if it’s for fighting for small businesses. I—I—I bring that passion to all those aspects of my job. And I think that makes me a better commissioner now—[inaudible] commissioner.
So, um, yeah. I think that’s—I think that’s an important point to make. ‘Cause I think a lot of people who are in the LGBTQ community who run for public office are marginalized that way. And it’s something that you have to be able to overcome.
SmithCravero
[sniffs].
Sheehan
Yeah. Uh, when I was with the, um—I was really involved with the Democratic Party many, many years ago and they asked me to be constituency outreach. And it wasn’t easy ‘cause people were angry. I mean like they—go deal with—they’ll go deal with the—the—the—the different caucuses. And then—and—and sit down and, you know, figure out what—what—what are their needs and stuff like that. And people were really angry. And the thing was they hadn’t been asked.
So I go in there. I’m this little white girl. You know [laughs]? And, “What do you know about struggle?” This and that. You know? And I’m—everyone I went to I [sniffs]—I was with the African-American caucus and they were—they’re just—and I just said, “Okay. I’m just gonna listen. I’m just gonna sit here and listen to what everybody’s, you know, issues are.” And I sat there. And one of the—one of the gentlemen who was—M—Mr. Armistead[?], who I still know, said, “You hung in there.” He goes, “You just hung in there. And you listened to us.” He goes, “And you know what? That’s important. ‘Cause nobody listens to us.” Like wow. It’s like, “I can’t promise anything. But it—but it’s important to listen.” And I never—I never forgot that. Because for him to tell me, “Nobody has ever listened to me.” This is an African-American lawyer. Pretty prominent in his community. To tell me that no one had ever bothered to listen to him, that’s—that broke my heart.
Um, and so I think it’s important, y—you know? I can’t promise I’m gonna fix everybody’s issues like that. You know? Nobody can promise that. Because a—again, any kind of civil rights movement, you have t—it’s incremental change. Because the—the majority’s not gonna just give it to you. You know? The don—they don’t—they don’t say, “Oh. Eh, gay and lesbian community, you want civil rights? African-American community, you want civil rights? Jewish community, you don’t wanna be discriminated against? Oh, we’ll just do this ‘cause it’s the right thing.” It doesn’t happen that way. You know? You have to educate and you have to fight for it.
Um, but it’s been a—it’s been an honor to be trusted by people. And with their feelings. And with their concerns. And with their problems. And, um, if you look at it that way, um, that it’s a chance to—to bridge that divide and—and help them, that’s how I look at it. And, you know, I deal with angry people all day long. And I say, “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.” You know? Everybody’s got their—everybody has something to offer. Everybody has something to give you. Um, sometimes people are just mean. I don’t know. I mean I don’t take on everybody who wants to call me a[sic] epithet or curse at me or anything like that. I mean that’s—it—I think there’s a level of civil discourse that’s—that’s very uncivil, especially with social media “keyboard courage” I call it, that really unfortunate. But, uh—but I think overall, if you, um—if you listen and try to—to—to understand—and listen not to respond, but listen to understand, um, you’ll—you’ll—much better advocate and—and public servant. That’s just how I’ve applied it.
But I mean I’ve had, you know, the Hispanic community, the African-American community, I just haven’t just dealt with the LGBTQ community, you know, over the years. And, um—and there—and there are specific needs. And there have been specific needs specifically from Pulse. I mean the QLatinx, these young Latin-American, you know, young people. Many of whom—you know, some of—some of the families didn’t claim their kids ‘cause they found out they were gay that way. I mean the—what else—what other community’s experienced that?
So there are things that we need to help people with. Um, and we need to be sensitive, too. And I think a community—the community came together really well. I was very proud of how the city—the Camping World Stadium—deal with the immigration issues. I mean a lot of families weren’t even—you know, they had to come here to bury their kids. What a horrible thing. That the way this community—and it’s amazing how well this community came together to help everybody. But that doesn’t mean that we, um, brush aside their concerns as minority community.
SmithSheehan
[laughs]. You know, um, eh, when—at first when they were talking about marriage equality, I’m like, “I’m not you’re girl.” You know [laughs]? I hadn’t had a relationship in a long time. You know? ‘Cause we were—g—gosh, we had been fighting for marriage equality forever. And—and—and, you know, in the—in the—in the, uh, early 2000s, everybody’s like, “We want you to take this one.” I was, “This really isn’t my thing. You know? I’m a lesbian. I think I got workplace equality. All those things are important to me.” But I hadn’t really been in a long-term relationship. But then I got in a long-term relationship and I realized why those things were important. Because, you know, I went to go get—you know, I went to—to—to deal with, um, um, you know, leaving—leaving my things to my p—my partner in case then—my health had gotten really bad. What if—what if I—what if something happens to me? Um, you know? How do I take care of her?
And all those issues that it—marriage conveys 1,500 rights that, you know—‘cause straight people think about, This is a right for me. This is something for me. Gay people shouldn’t have the right to the wedding cake. And all those things. That’s a straight thing. Well, we had the right to the wedding cake. We had the right to the church ceremony. But what we didn’t have access to was the contractual arrangement. So I had to educate myself about it so that I could then communicate it. And I think w—w—and I’m a—I was a member at the time of a lot of the national LGBTQ organizations that said, “You know what? We don’t talk about…” I said, “I don’t care if they call it ‘domestic partnership’ or call it ‘Fred’. But what we need to explain to people is the difference between the wedding cake and the contract.” And so every time I had the chance to talk about it, I said, “There are 1,500 rights that convey with marriage that go—that—that—that we should be able to have access to as a contractual relationship to—to be able to partner with someone.
And then other people in the, you know—other—my—my colleagues said, “Yeah. You know? That’s a really well—that’s a really good way to communicate that.” So then we all started—elected officials, we all started talking from that same page. And, you know, we would all get together and fight about how we were gonna do it. ‘Cause, you know, it’s—it’s difficult. I’m from Florida. You know, and—and they’re from San Francisco[, California]. They’re talking about medical marijuana. And they’re so cool. And everyone’s more accepting. I mean, I was like, “Okay. I’m not a canary in the coalmine. And in Orlando, you know, if we can figure out how to communicate it, this should help you guys, too [laughs].”
So after a while, we started talking about the rights that convey with marriage. And it—and it was right from the HRC[12] website. It wasn’t like it was hidden. But nobody was talking about it. So once we started talking about that from that standpoint, the weird thing for me was I started seeing people go, “Oh. Wait a minute. That’s not fair.” So sometimes we have to remember this. Because we understand something doesn’t necessarily mean that somebody else understands something. And it became an educational process. And I think that all the LGBTQ groups did a better job of—of communicating that fact. The—the proper, um, court cases came forward. I mean the Windsor case[13] was just—was beyond. Because that was a clear case of someone being denied access to her partner’s, you know, um, uh, what they had built together in their life. When her partner died, that was a clear case. And, you know, here’s this—here’s all of us gay rights activists who have, you know—fighting, fighting, fighting. And here’s little Edie Windsor[14], you know, winning this historic court case that brought that all come on tumbling down, which was phenomenal. And she’s a hero. You know? She just wanted to fight for what she thought was right.
And—and—and I—and something that I tell people that I think the majority of the community doesn’t understand is minority rights have never been conveyed by the majority, except for Ireland. Ireland did it for—for LGBTQ rights. They actually had a referendum and extended marriage equality, too. That there—that’s the only place that had—did not happen in the courts. Usually min—the majority does not vote to give minorities any kind of rights. And so that’s what I tell people. I’m like, “The m—the—the majority feels they’re gonna lose something ridiculously if they—if they—if they look after minorities, unfortunately. Um, so it’s—it should never be up to a referendum. Minority rights should never be up for a referendum. Because they’re—I—they are a minority. You know, you can’t get enough votes out of a mi—minority. But—and that’s why the Constitution talks about the tyranny of the majority. That’s the actual quote about the tyranny of the majority. And have—and having rights for everyone. And having the courts. And having these balances.
So, uh, you know—I mean I think it’s important to understand that. And I was glad to be a part of it. Uh, I was—my partner and I were the first domestic partnership. Unfortunately, it broke up shortly thereafter. I was horribly embarrassed ‘cause I never would have put my—my relationship as—as domestic partnership number—number one, had I known it wasn’t going to last that long. I wasn’t on the way out. She was. But, you know, it—it happens. It happens. For divorce happens. And people break up. And, you know—but I felt this tremendous, “Ah.” You know? Pressure to be perfect. And, Oh, my God. How could this happen? I was so horrified. And I was already heartbroken.
But, you know, I—and I remember when the report—one of the—one of the reporters found out. I’m like, “I’m just gonna get beaten up so bad, you guys.” “And I ain’t got—I went through a divorce, too. I’m so sorry.” I thought, Wow. I’m actually getting treated like everybody else. Isn’t that nice? It was the first time I really felt like somebody had been fair to me. Was [laughs] dealing with my div—it wasn’t even really a divorce. It was by domestic partnership being—and I had—I went and dissolved it. Yeah. It’s hard—it was hard. ‘Cause I—it wasn’t my choice. But lots of people get left. And lots of people get heartbroken. And it’s part of life. You know? Half of marriages end in divorce. But that doesn’t mean that the LGBTQ community doesn’t b—deserve the same rights and equality or, as some of my friends say, “That’s the same—that’s the same right to be miserable as everyone else [laughs].” You know?
But there are some couples that I know that have been together 40—I mean there was a couple that had been together 41 years that got married here on the steps of City Hall. And that was an incredible day. For the mayor [John Hugh “Buddy” Dyer] to have the ceremony. And he’s actually a notary public. He did the—he did the ceremony. And I did a reading. And it was just really lovely to be there. You know? And—and to experience that. And it—and it was a little bittersweet to me because I wasn’t in a relationship. But, um—but, you know, s—it was great for me to see my friends who’d been together 28 years and 20 years. And Bill [Stevens] and Bob [Brings]. My, uh—my assistant got married that day. Um, and they were actually—what a lot of people don’t realize, there was a backcourt case, um, at—at the—at—at Orange County. Um, they had asked for a marriage license. And they were trying to get the clerk to deny them. And they were gonna do—they were gonna fight it in court, but it ended up being that the case came down. And they didn’t up—not ended up having to do it. But, uh—but Bill and Bob were one of those plaintiffs ready to—you know, ready to take on that case if they had needed to.
SmithSheehan
Um, yeah. I mean getting to work on the Lake Eola fountain. That was really cool. I mean I kind of got criticized because, uh, “Why are you spending all this money for this engineering study?” You know? ‘Cause it’s—it’s a one-of-a-kind thing. I love neat, cool, original stuff. And I like the fact that it looks like a big old Jell-O mold [laughs]. But it was broken down. It wasn’t working. It was dreadful. And the m—most fortuitous lightning strike I think in American history after we had done the study to figure out what it would take to fix it. And they were able to put LED lights. It’s a lot more efficient. And, you know, it’s the icon of our city. It’s beautiful. And it was—wasn’t working for almost two years. And I think that that was—I—I—when you have something like that it has to work. It has to. It got—municipal government. You can’t just say, “Okay. Well, here’s our—here’s our icon. And we’re gonna let—leave the lights off or leave the fountain off.” We couldn’t do that. And—and I think it’s a s—I think it shows that it works. It’s beautiful. It dances [laughs]. It’s—it’s computerized now. It does all these cool things. We have shows that we run to it. That was really neat to get to work on. That was really a lot of fun.
Um, painting the [Lake Eola] Bandshell. Working with Walt Disney World, uh, to paint the bandshell in the rainbow after Pulse was just so meaningful. And I—I—it was a very symbolic and beautiful thing. And I didn’t even reali—you know, it—what I first, eh—it never occurred to me to paint it as a rainbow before. And then, uh, I actually a—a—a, uh—a person who just lives in the community. A mom who lost her son to suicide. He wasn’t gay. He killed himself—she says, “You know what? I feel an affinity to these parents—parents who have lost their child.” And she’s an artist. And she says, “Look what you could do. Painting this bandshell in rainbow.” And I didn’t realize there were exactly six ribs in the bandshell for the rainbow colors. And, um—and then Walt Disney World came and painted that. And it just—is—it—it makes such a stunning statement. And it’s such a beautiful testament to remembering the—the 49 fallen of Pulse. That was just—that was really cool to work on.
Um, sidewalks. I’m really proud that we can—that we—that we have sidewalks within miles of our el—elementary school. I mean I remember when we used to open up the paper on the first day school and a half dozen kids were getting killed in the ‘90s. The late ‘90s to 2000s. You don’t—you don’t do—you don’t read that any more. We’ve become much more aware of pedestrian safety for children. And children aren’t getting killed walking to school on the first day of s—of school. I’m proud of that. When I was in second grade, one of my best friends got killed walking to school. Again, there was a lot of people says[sic], “Why are you doing this?” Or, “Why can’t we vote?” And I said, “Okay. If there’s 10 people that live on a street and two have children, do the two people that have children get outvoted by the other eight? And we don’t put sidewalks in for children? Really? Is that how that works?” Again, that tyranny of the majority.
And I had to stand up for sidewalks. I got death threats [laughs]. They had to park a police car in front of my house for 24 hours ‘cause the death threats got so bad. The Audubon Park people. Um, it is what it is. People take very crazy stances sometimes. You know? And you gotta fight for what you believe in. And I honestly—how am I gonna change my mind, you know, that—when I lost someone as a child. And I’m an adult. And I’m a decision-maker. And I get to make a—and I get to make a difference. Do I just roll over? And the crazy thing was that gave me the political courage to say, “Okay. I really believe in this. I’m gonna fight for it. Even if I don’t ever get reelected.” “You are never gonna get reelected again.” I’m like, “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll have to do that then. Because I believe that this an important leadership thing. Tha—this is an important leadership stance I need to take.
Of course I got reelected the next time. ‘Cause people—people always say, “We’re gonna—we’re gonna make sure you never get reelected. And if you are always constantly worried about getting reelected, you will never get anything accomplished. Because there’s always a—there’s always people on two sides of an issue. Always. You have to pick a side or you’re schizophrenic. You cannot bend to please everyone. Is there a—there is even—I wanted to take the trash—I wanted to clean up the trash on Mills [Avenue] and I had someone that was opposed to the—that. How could anybody opp—[laughs] you know? “We don’t like going to these new garbage cans.” Well, that’s ridiculous. But there’s always gonna be somebody against that. And you—you can’t just bend or you’re gonna be completely ineffective. So I’ve decided, you know, I’m gonna fight for what I believe in. And—and I think I’ve been pretty good at it.
And the Main Street Districts are always—also something I’m really, really, really proud of. I mean we had all these great little areas that were so cool. I [inaudible] in Ivanhoe. And we did the—the, uh—they call it “Jingle Eve” now. But these[sic] big Christmas thing that we did. I’m like, Why can’t we do special events to bring these folks together? Which had morphed into our Main Street program. And I’m very proud of that program. I mean whenever we get written up in national newspapers and travel magazines now, it’s usually our Main Streets. And I’m proud to have been a huge supporter of that program. And I love what they’re doing.
And I—I—I—again—and public art. I mean we were—we were acting like public art was some kind of problem instead of something to be celebrated. And you—then when—when, um, Orlando City [SC] wanted to do murals all over the city to commemorate their news[sic], um—their new team, they said, “Well, you have to—you have to erase them.” You—we’re gonna [inaudible] tempor—I’m like, “Why would I want to do this temporarily? We have all this great art. Why can’t we find a way to legalize art?” So I worked on it—I worked on the orders with the planning staff. And now we’ve got art. But you have to go through a process. You have to get a permit. And it has—that’s what differentiate—differentiates you from the graffiti. So I—I was really proud to do that. I’m an artist. I love that kind of stuff.
So, you know, you get to work on really cool things. I mean I’ve been here long enough to where I’ve gotten to do some really cool stuff over the years. And, uh, they’re things I love. And urban—everything from urban chickens, which was a lot of fun, you know? Slow food movement. Um, these are trends. I mean I go to—when I go to a city, I see what are[sic] they doing. What are the kind of cool, f—fun, funky things that they’re doing? And how can we bring ‘em here to Orlando? And urban chickens was one of ‘em. I mean, you know? Backyard chickens. People love that. You know? And I’ve had a great time doing it. And people say that, “My—my kids love having our chickens and going and getting the eggs.” And I love that it teaches kids that food doesn’t come from a grocery store. And it’s important to treat animals humanely. And there’s always lessons that come out of that.
So it’s—it’s—it’s—it’s—need to be a—able to a part of, you know—of making that change in people’s lives. And it was something that people asked me to do. Um, so, and you know—I mean I’ve worked with everything from the Asian-American community, um, because they felt they were invisible and they wanted to be more involved in what was happening. And they’ve been really embraced by Mills 50 [District]. And they do the Asian Winter New Year, which is one of the coolest cultural festivals I think that we have. Um, it’s—it’s empowering people to be able to connect and do those things together. That’s the—that’s the neat part of the job.
The awful part of the job is when, you know, people are just mean and hateful and say [inaudible]—they just want to suck the soul out of you and just write mean things to you in an email. And I’ll still help him. I don’t take on their anger and their meanness. But I’ll still—you know, like I say, “A broke[sic] clock is even work twice—is right twice a day.” But that’s the stuff that hurts. You know? I’m a human being. People forget that elected officials are people. And, you know, I have people write horrible things about me. But if it’s really, really nasty and it’s so unfair, I don’t even respond. Because I don’t want to dignify it with a denial. It’s not that I accept their opinion of me. It’s that some people—some things are just so bad that you have to—I learned a long time ago that sometimes allowing someone to scream an epithet at me in an empty room and walking away is a lot more impactful than screaming back at them. ‘Cause I’ve had that happen where someone called me the f-word, even though I’m not—I’m not a faggot. I’m a dyke [laughs]. I’ve had someone call me that word. And I just walked away and I let it resonate. And, uh, sometimes that means more to people than shouting back [phone rings]. And, you know, sometimes you gotta know when to walk away. I—believe me, I’m a fighter. But I’m not going to stoop to the level to rise to the occasion. I’m not gonna be like him.
Smith
Well, is there anything else that you would like to, um, say or talk about that we haven’t talked about?
Sheehan
No. I just need to go to the collection to make sure you [laughs] guys have got the proper stuff. ‘Cause some of this stuff, I don’t even know what it is [laughs]. So—and I wanna make sure that we’ve got it categorized properly. Yeah. I think I need to do that ‘cause, you know—I mean, uh, ‘cause I had a really—I don’t think I’ve really donated to you guys. I think you probably got it from friends of friends. Or maybe through LCN or something like that. And I—and, you know, like I say, L—LCN was Love and Committed Network. That was the women’s group. And, you know, different things like that. So I just need to make sure we got the right, you know—we’re good—we’ve got the right stuff.
Smith
Alright. Well, thank you.
Sheehan
Sure. Thank you. Thanks for coming over. I appreciate it.
Smith
Of course.
Sheehan
Awesome.
Cravero
Alright.
[1] University of Central Florida
[2] Gay Lesbian Bisexual Transgender
[3] Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Questioning (or Queer)
[4] American docudrama miniseries about LGBT rights, created by Dustin Lance Black. The series originally aired from February 7, 2017 – March 3, 2017.
[5] The March on Washington for Lesbian, Gay and Bi Equal Rights and Liberation took place on April 25, 1993.
[6] Human Immunodeficiency Virus
[7] Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome
[8] Loving – Commitment – Networking. “A Women’s Organization”
[9] Transgender
[10] Caryn Elaine Johnson (November 13, 1955 - )
[11] Orlando Immunology Center
[12] Human Rights Campaign
[13] United States v. Windsor, 570 U.S.__(2013)
[14] Edith “Edie” Windsor (June 20, 1929 – present)
Muha
This is Jared Muha. I’m here on October 30th[, 2014] with Geraldean Matthew. Um, Geraldean, to start off, can I ask you just to tell you—tell—tell me a little bit about yourself, um, and who you are?
Matthew
Well, I’m Geraldean Matthew. I was Geraldean Shannon before I got married and became—became the—Matthew. Um, I come from Palm Beach County, a little place in the—on the, um, eastern shores of Palm—of Palm Beach. Um, I was a migrant farmworker. I’m the third generations[sic] of farmworkers—uh, of migrant workers in my family, and, um, we continued—I continued to do farm work until, um, 1972.
Um, I can remember as far as[sic] back when I was three years old, traveling to see them with my mom on what you call a “traffic truck”—a “tramp truck,” and it’s[sic] taken us from Belle Glade, Florida, to the New York states[sic] to pick apples and beans—whatever state we were in, whatever the vegetable was, and, um, in traveling back, we stopped in a little town called Mount Dora, and from Mount Dora to Apopka, and that’s when we decided to stay here to work in the oranges, which was our first time ever picking oranges, and from there we ended up staying here in Apopka, and, um, I left home at the age of 13 and went out on my own and been out on my own ever since, and from there, I got married and I end[sic] up with six babies, uh—12 years of marriage, and then I divorce[sic] and from there, I had to take care of my kids and raise my kids alone, and I continued to travel, and in 1972, that’s when I gave it up. I didn’t want to put my children through what I had went[sic] through—changing schools every two or three months because you’ve got to move to the next state to work.
So, um, we remaineded[sic] here in—in—in Apopka, Florida, and from that, I continued to work in the fields, um, cutting and jiving[?], packing corn, and picking string beans, and, uh, whatever else they had for us to do—working in the carrots, and, um, from there, I just got tired of the—the—the farm work…
Muha
Hm.
Matthew
And I went into doing the foliage work, uh—potting flowers, and that—I liked it pretty good, and I stayed there for a number of years, and then from there, I volunteered to work with the Farmworker Association[ of Florida] and I landed a job with the association, and I worked there doing different types of jobs in the organization, and, um, I started advocating for poor people[sic] rights in Tallahassee, and that was one of the most awesome jobs I had ever had in my life. Just having a—just a 10th grade education, it was really awesome, because I never thought in life that I would land such a good job, and from there, I started working, uh—after they laid me off ‘cause lack of, uh, grants, I start[sic] working with Orange County Health Department and then, uh, Env—En—Environmental Protection [Agency], and, uh, I worked there with David Overfield for a few months, and then I got sick with my kidney. Worked from December until April, and the kidney broke down and I had to stop working with them.
I, uh, left them in June, and from there I got sicker and sicker, and I ended up on kidney dialysis. So right now, that’s where I basically is[sic]. I’m on kidney dialysis three days a week. Um, I just was told a month ago that my liver is gone. My heart—there’s nothing they can do. So right now, I have my good days, I have my bad days, and I just, you know, I have to accept what life throws at me and depend on the grace of the Good Lord. So right now that’s where I am.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
Um, there’s a lot of times, if I’m able to go to the grocery stores, um, I always tell people, “My job is not finished,” because I stand in the grocery stores and I talk with peoples[sic] about the use of pesticide in the field. Those that are still out there working.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
I’ve talked with them.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And, um, let them know that it’s not finished, you know? You’re still being sprayed with the pesticide if you’re still in the fields.
Muha
Well, thank you for telling me all that.
Matthew
Hm.
Muha
So you mentioned a few things that I wanna ask about.
Matthew
Mmhmm?
Muha
Some now and some later. The first thing—um, you said you were 13 years old when you went on your own?
Matthew
Yes.
Muha
So can you tell me like how that happened and—and what—what that was like being 13 and on your own?
Matthew
Well, the reason I left home when I was 13—because of a step-father, and, um, he didn’t treat my mom right, and I had a sister and a brother, at that time, and he didn’t treat them right. He were[sic] more like afraid of me, ‘cause I used to threaten him all the time about if he would hit me, what I would do to him. So I didn’t have to worry about getting licks from him, but he would beat my sister and beat my brother so bad[sic], and my mom, she didn’t—she wasn’t a violent person and I just couldn’t—I couldn’t take it—seeing her not saying nothing at the way he was treating the family.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
So one day I just packed and I left, and, um, I was, you know—I was tall. I was always a tall girl. So I could pass off for 17 years old, 18 years old—and that’s what I did.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And, um, I got a man—uh, a man and his wife to say they was[sic] my mom and, um, take me to the courthouse, and I got married.
Muha
Hm.
Matthew
And when I got married, then I was, you know—it was better for me to be married. That way I could—continue to help my mom.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And I didn’t move from around my mom until after about four years and—I was married and I moved to another town.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
But I would come see her every Saturday.
Muha
Mmhmm, but you continued working at the fields?
Matthew
Mmhmm, I continued to work in the fields.
Muha
Mmhmm, you just did it on your own then?
Matthew
Yep, mmhmm.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
It was—it was like—it was hard, but, you know, having somebody to help you, it wasn’t so difficult, because my thing was I always wanted to give my mom—I always wanted to make sure that my mom had—and I was able to help my mom.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
So after the marriage was over with of 12 years, then I continued to work, but I was always able to go by my mom[sic] house and give my mom money to help her.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
Because my mom was a young lady when she got—she took sick. She was 36…
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
When she took sick.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
So yeah, I wanted to ask about your parents too. I mean, um, so—so your parents were farmworkers, as well?
Matthew
Yes, my mom and my father were farmworkers when they met. My mom was 13 years old and my daddy was 15 years old.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And, um, when my mom got pregnant with me at the age of 13 years old, my father got—was afraid, and my father, he was big for—big, big, big boy…
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And he ran off and lied and went into the military. So he was in the Air Force all his life.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
He made a career out of it, and in, um—in 1960, he come[sic] home and everybody was saying that I was his baby, and he took a look at me and said, “Oh, yeah, that is my baby.”
Muha
[laughs].
Matthew
And they said then he wanted to be a part of my life, but he went back into the Air Force, and then, when he come[sic] back home, that[sic] when he begin[sic] to fight my mom for, uh, a part of my life. So they took it to court and the court give[sic] him, um—I stayed six months with my mom in Belle Glade, and I stayed six months with my father in Miami, and my father was called by mistake to go back into the military, and that’s when his mama and his wife decided to send me home…
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
To my mom.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And I never communicated with him again. When I seen[sic] my father again, it was 1972.
Muha
Hm.
Matthew
He came here and visit[sic] me, and I haven’t seen him again since.
Muha
Hm.
Matthew
‘Cause he, um—he went fishing in Miami and he never was found again.
Muha
Mmhmm, okay. Do you remember any stories that your mother or father had told you about their days working on the farms?
Matthew
Yeah, my mom used to, um, tell us about when they was[sic] children and the sh—her mom and her father was[sic] together, how they would go to work. Uh, they was[sic]—they was[sic], um, picking cotton, and how they would go to work and work days and—I mean hours and hours in the cotton fields.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
Um, she mostly talked about my grandmother, but—because my grandmother was a slave…
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And she talked about—we talked about a lot of slavery in that—in our house…
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
Because of my grandmother being a slave.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
Um, sh—I mean, it wasn’t no[sic] [inaudible] generation. Slavery was right at our backdoor.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
And, um, that’s mostly what she’d talk about. She never really just do a lot of talk[sic] about herself as a little girl, you know? Sometimes she would tell us stories about how the crew leaders would try to do little nasty things and stunts and things they would pull, you know—and how my grandmother would defend them and stuff.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
Yeah, and mostly talks about my grandmother and mostly talks about her father and mostly her grandfather. Her grandfather was—uh, mostly talk of the family was her [laughs] grandfather. They used to tell us stories about how funny he was and how, you know, he—he—after coming off the slave camps, he’d never taken crap off of anybody again and how mean he was, and mostly what they talk about—even ‘til today, they talk about my great-granddaddy—how, you know—how raw[?] he got and, you know, just didn’t want nothing[sic] wrong to go—nothing in the family to go wrong.
Muha Mmhmm.
Matthew
All the way up until he passed away, but my family, they’re originally from Georgia—Fort Valley [State University], Georgia, and I used to have to go there after—if my mama didn’t feel like taking us up on[sic] to see her, she would take us to Georgia and leave me with my grandmother.
Muha
Hm.
Matthew
So I would stay, uh, the month of June, July, August, and come back when school start[sic] in September.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
We would go back to Belle Glade.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
But if we was[sic] traveling, we would go to school wherever we was[sic].
Muha
So, um, you mentioned that, uh, you would travel, you know, during cer— certain seasons to—to pick in other states.
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
Um, I’m wondering if you could tell me a little bit about that. How did—how did what you experienced in other states differ from Apopka?
Matthew
It was much different from my home in Belle Glade.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
It was much…
Muha
In Belle Glade? Right[?].
Matthew
Different from Belle Glade, because Belle Glade was a very, very violent town. Very vi—violent, and those states was[sic] more calmer[sic]. You saw more respect. In Belle Glade, there was no respect at all.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
Because Belle Glade was build[sic] up on people of all nationalities. It wasn’t just the people from Belle Glade. It was the people from all over the Caribbean Islands, and there was no respect. If you was[sic] a child in Belle Glade, you knew everything that an adult knew when you was[sic] six or seven years old.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And it wasn’t nice. It wasn’t nice at all. So when we’d travel to the other states, we see the childrens[sic] more respectable[sic], it make[sic] you feel a difference. You be[sic] like, Wow, why I can’t be like that child? You know, and the schools was[sic] different, because Belle Glade schools, they wasn’t[sic] segregated, and those schools up North, they were segregated. So you got a chance to go to school—go—go to a—a school—a minority[?] school, and it was a big difference. It was like—the first time you went, it was scary, scary, scary, and as you continue to go, then the children begin to talk with you and you begin to meet friends, but when you first go—first start, you are told, “Oh, you can’t play with them little white children.” You know, because that was the way the South was out here.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
We could not—we didn’t play with the childrens[sic] across the track, you know? We stayed on our side of the track and the whites stayed on their side of the track. So we didn’t know the feeling of being with, uh, the white childrens[sic]. We didn’t know that feeling.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
So when I went up to travel up North, then we connected with that. That was—to us it was weird, you know, but then, as we traveled to a—we might be in say, New Jersey—the childrens[sic] are one way in New Jersey, and when we get up to maybe New York, the children are different wherever they are—different style[?]. We had—we had to adapt to that, but as we continued down through the years, then it became like nothing to us, you know?
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
It was, you know—we expecting[sic] it.
Muha
Right.
Matthew
And it was all good, but I can remember the bad times when we travel[sic] and we was[sic] told that—we would stop and we would buy gas, and then if you needed—if one of the children needed to use the restroom, we was[sic] told that we couldn’t use the restroom, and by me coming from the Deep South down here—coming up here, we’d have thought it was better, but it was worse in North Carolina.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
You want to use the bathroom after you done purchased gas, they tell you to go out there in the cornfield.
Muha
Wow.
Matthew
And that wasn’t—that wasn’t right with us, you know?
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
That wasn’t right.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
And it—it finally growed[sic] on us, you know? It finally growed[sic] on us, but we, as childrens[sic]—being a migrant worker, you really enjoyed, because you’ll come in—you’ll see things that you probably wouldn’t have never[sic] seen if you wasn’t[sic] a migrant worker.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
Yeah, because—like right now, you travel from Florida to Georgia, you don’t see any mountains, and back in our days, there were mountains. By the time you get to Savannah, Georgia, you got mountains. North Carolina on up, but now, you don’t see that like you did—did when I was a child.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And, um, childrens[sic]—childrens[sic] nowadays will never get the opportunity that we had and that make[sic] me appreciate my life ,because I got a chance to do something that children nowadays would never do. I got a chance to travel on the back of a truck full[?] the women and childrens[sic] going up north. That was awesome. I got a chance to stop - when they stopped the truck, we would stop in the mountains and we would go up in the mountains and we would cook our food, and water would be coming down the mountain and we would take baths in the water. Children would never see that now, but, you know, it made us feel good. It made us feel good, ‘cause the adult[sic] used to get mad. We out there, the water running down the mountain streams…
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And we were washing our skin and they were arguing, because we were so happy, you know?
Muha
[laughs].
Matthew
We cooking our food and stuff and we so happy, and they would argue, because life was really hard for the adults that had childrens[sic].
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
To be on the back of a tru—of a—a truck—they called them “tramp trucks,” ‘cause that’s what they called us—tramps. We was[sic] either tramps or we was[sic] either maggot workers. We wasn’t[sic] called “migrants.” We was called “maggot worker.” “There go[sic] those maggot workers.”
Muha
By who[sic]?
Matthew
Hm?
Muha
Who would—who would call you that?
Matthew
The peoples[sic] in the town where we was[sic] going, and then we would live on labor camps. Some of them would have bathrooms and some of them wouldn’t, and we would have to go down to the river to drink—get our—get our drinking water. So find the river—once we locate the river, we come back—the children would locate the river. We’d come back and tell the adults that we located a river, and the adults would go down and would start getting water from the river. Bring them back to the camp in buckets, and when the city people learned that peoples[sic] the, uh—the, um—the migrant workers from Florida are here. Once the word get[sic] out, then there were some people from the city—like there was a company in Maryland, Merita Bread—they would bring us bread on the camps, and, um, there was another company that made coats—they would bring us winter coats on the camp.
Muha
Hm.
Matthew
They made sure that we had socks on—some of the camps. Some of the states we went in, they wouldn’t give you nothing[sic], but, um…
Muha
And the crew leaders would provide these?
Matthew
No.
Muha
No? Okay.
Matthew
These was[sic] peoples[sic] that hear that migrant workers was[sic] here working.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
And they would do that in hopes of[sic]—when we would start working, we would come and spend our money to your…
Muha
Oh.
Matthew
Store or whatever.
Muha
Yeah, I see.
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
So I wanted to—to ask about the labor camps, uh—the quarters. Um, so yeah, I mean, what were the quarters like? Could you speak to what the quarters were like here in Florida that you observed?
Matthew
Well, a quar—the places here in Florida was[sic] much better than the places—much better than some of the places traveling up north, because here, in Florida, you had the Florida Farmworkers Bureau here and they was[sic] on top of a lot of faulty living, but up north, they didn’t worry about you. They would—they would take you in the woods. They mostly built their camps in the wood[sic], but here, in Florida, there were eyes on you, you know? So you can’t get away with a lot of stuff that you can get away[sic] up north, ‘cause I can recall, in 1970, traveling to Michigan to pick cherries and apples. I can recall, when we got there, we saying[sic], “We[sic] going to the camp.” There was no camp. The guy had chicken coops—what you put the chickens in.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
And they was[sic] taking chickens out, and I say[sic], “What are they going to do with them? Why are they taking the chickens out?” And somebody whispered to me and say[sic], “That’s where you guys gonna sleep.” So they brought a carriage. they put all the chicken coops in a line side by side in a circle-like and they brought a carriage—they put a carriage on top, and you’re—from here up is inside the coop and your feet hanging[sic] out, and that’s where we slept.
Muha
Wow.
Matthew
And, um, finally, somebody came down and talked to the—talked to the owner of the property, and that’s when he began to build, um, a shed—a thing—a little building where we could go inside. So we had to go inside, but everybody was in one—one thing, and you had to put a—just a little sheet between you and the next family.
Muha
Yep.
Matthew
And that’s the way we slept that season.
Muha
Hm.
Matthew
In—in—in—in Michigan. I can recall, in Maryland, the crew leader had a horse stable, and, uh, it was a huge horse stable. I never seen[sic] one that big, and he parted off into rooms, and each family had their room, and that’s where we slept, but the male child could not sleep with—in—with the females. It—like my brother.
Muha
Right.
Matthew
My brother had to go up in the loft.
Muha
Right.
Matthew
And, uh, where they have all the hay at, and the mens[sic] had to sleep up in the loft, and the women slept in the barn—what we called a barn.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
You know, it was a lot of [laughs]—a lot of crazy ways we had to sleep. I mean, it was miserable.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
Miserable.
Muha
Yeah, but you stayed in quarters in Florida, as well, did—did—right? Or no?
Matthew
No…
Muha
Only—only when you traveled?
Matthew
I never stayed—let me see. I never—I stayed in a quarter when I come[sic] to Apopka. They called it “the Graveyard Quarters.”
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
And it housed migrant workers, but most of the people was[sic]—was like—had come here as a migrant worker and never left.
Muha
Oh, okay.
Matthew
Yeah, they come here as a migrant worker and they lived in “the Graveyard Quarters,” but they never left.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
They be—they just continued to stay there until they tore it down.
Muha
Okay, and—and who were they? Were they generally black Americans living there?
Matthew
Black Americans.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
Mmhmm. At that time, there wasn’t[sic] no[sic] Hispanic farmworkers here. When I come[sic] to Apopka, it[sic] wasn’t[sic] any Hispanic farmworkers here. It was all African Americans, and, um, when it got really throwed[?] was in 1990-something that they faded out African Americans. They got rid of them. Um, I’m trying to think, and when they—well, before they closed the farmland down, they give[sic] us all our papers and told us that they would not need us anymore, but those that want to come out there and help clean up can come clean up. They, um—all of the black crew leaders—they laid them off, and they hired a Hispanic man from Pahokee, and he brought some peoples[sic] up here and he re—they replaced us. We demonstrated and demonstrated about it, but nothing never[sic] happened.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
When we would go out there and try to get work, they wouldn’t give us no[sic] work.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And it’s still like that today. Once they replace[sic] us with Mexican workers, the Mexicans would not hire us. The crew leaders would not hire us, but we get a job, we’ll hire them, but they will not hire us. It’s still that way today.
Muha
Great, so yeah—so, if I understand, uh, correctly, you said at some point in the 1990s, they fired most all the black…
Matthew
They got rid of all the black…
Muha
And that’s up in Apopka?
Matthew
In Apopka.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
And they replaced them with mainly…
Matthew
Hispanics.
Muha
Mexican or Hispanic crew leaders.
Matthew
Mmhmm, right.
Muha
And those crew leaders hired…
Matthew
Hired…
Muha
Predominantly…
Matthew
Nothing but Mexicans.
Muha
Really? Okay.
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
Yep, we got involved—the organization got involved. We went out there. We marched out there with Hispanic people. Hispanic people—there was[sic] Hispanic people that didn’t like the idea and they’d march along beside us, you know, but they never hired us back, and right now, I don’t know—have[sic] Jeannie [Economos] taken you out to—to—to—to the—where they[sic] corn is? Where they[sic] working in the corn.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
Well, right now out there was all African Americans doing all that work out there, but now it’s nothing but Hispanic people.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
They…
Muha
Uh…
Matthew
Just plum out replaced us.
Muha
And—and do you know why they did that?
Matthew
Well, my—my—my thing is this—and I tell peoples[sic] this all the time, and I used to say this before they replaced us—that one day, we won’t have a job, and people used to look at me crazy and they say[sic], “What you talking about?” I say[sic], “One day, you will not be able to come out here on them muck[?] and work here.” I say[sic], “It’ll be all Hispanic peoples out here working.” That was about probably five years before they replaced us. We hadn’t heard nobody[sic] talking about replacing us.
Muha
Uh huh.
Matthew
But I felt that way because, when the Hispanic people come around, the crew leaders would—the—the—the crew leaders that owe—owned a pro—piece of the job would always have a big conversation with them, and, uh, African Americans I truly believe was[sic] replaced because you start—when they start working us, they started working us and giving us our money every day. When we’d leave the job in the afternoon, we were paid off, and if you pay me off and I drink, I’ma[sic] come home and I’ma[sic] drink up my money, and tomorrow I’m gon’[sic] be sick and I’m not able to come to work. So your job is still going on, but I’m so sick ‘cause I done[sic] got my money overnight and I’m drunk. I can’t come to work. That kind of stuff was going on, and there were many years you could see, at the ending of the season—every season have[sic] an ending. There was[sic] a lot of crops to be throwed[sic] away,
Muha
Hm.
Matthew
’Cause the manpower wasn’t there to work it, because you pay me every night, I feel like, I—no, I ain’t goin’ to work tomorrow. I got me some money in my pocket.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
That’s the way I feel about it. I don’t know how anybody else feel[sic], but I feel that African Americans begin to lag on the job. You give them all that power and now you want to snatch it down from them. So the best way to snatch it away from them is to replace them, and that’s what they did. It was—it was sad. The year they replaced them, it was sad, ‘cause I was out there. I was, uh, working.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
And it was really sad. We didn’t have no[sic] job, and if you was a person worked[sic] seven days a week out there, and they replace you and you ain’t[sic] got nothing coming in—boy, it’s—it’s hard.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
It is hard.
Muha
Mmhmm. So, um—so this was—just for the recording—in 1996, uh, through 1998?
Matthew
It was in the ‘90s.
Muha
What was in the [inaudible]…
Matthew
I think it was in the earlier ‘90s.
Muha
But in 1996 to 1998…
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
A lot of the farms around Lake Apopka were shut down.
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
Um, but this was before that, you’re saying, when—when the black farmworkers were replaced?
Matthew
Replaced, yeah.
Muha
Replaced, yeah.
Matthew
Mmhmm, I think it was about ’92-‘90—’91-’92—’92/’93.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
When African Americans was[sic] replaced.
Muha
Uh huh.
Matthew
And then right after that the farmworkers—the farm was shut down.
Muha
And do you remember…
Matthew
Only one farm was left open. That’s what they called the Sang[?] Farms.
Muha
Uh huh, and do you remember, uh—so before that—before—while—while you were still working, what were—what were relations like between black farmworkers and Mexican farmworkers, Or Hispanic or Caribbean farmworkers?
Matthew
There wasn’t any relationship because when they—when they—when they—if you go to work, and a Spanish person is in what we call “the stall,” in one of the positions on the machine or whatever, he don’t say nothing[sic] to you, you don’t say nothing[sic] to him.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
I mean, you work. If he say[sic] something to you, then you, you know—we try to—most American—most—most African-American people probably my age and down took Spanish in school.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
So we try to, you know, [laughs] comprehend the little Spanish that we…
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
Took in school. “Good morning.” “How you doing?” “My name is this,” and…
Muha
Right.
Matthew
So on.
Muha
Right.
Matthew
Eh, but if they don’t say anything to us, we work all day and don’t say anything to them.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
So…
Matthew
And then there was a Mexican guy come[sic] around named Mexican Pete. He start[sic] getting—organizing farmworkers and then he got a crew—he the only Mexican that had a crew, but he went to school and he learned English really good[sic], so all Afri—all African Americans likeded[sic] him.
Muha
Mmhmm, when did you start noticing, uh, Hispanic farmworker—like a presence of Hispanic farmworkers on—on farms in Apopka and in Florida?
Matthew
Yeah, well, on farms in Apopka, I started noticing them—a large percentage of ‘em in 1989.
Muha
Hm.
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
So that’s when a lot had come or a lot had—you had noticed a lot of them, that had already been there…
Matthew
Mm…
Muha
But now made up a large segment or…
Matthew
They was[sic] coming.
Muha
They were coming? Okay.
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
Okay, and, um—and yeah, so I mean, how did that—did that change the workplace at all before a lot of the black farmworkers were fired, as you say?
Matthew
Did it change?
Muha
Yeah, I mean, was—was there something different about, um, the workplace or the way the crew leaders treated you or anything like that?
Matthew
No, it wasn’t—they—hm, they just come[sic] to us and just told us what it was going be, and the crew leaders told the crew leaders, so the crew leaders probably held it under they[sic] belt a week—didn’t want to tell us, and then finally, it got out.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And then, when it got out, a lot of people didn’t want to believe it, you know? Well, those like me that were smart and—and knew it was going to happen, felt like it was going to happen, went on and looked for a job.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
You know?
Muha
So…
Matthew
Most of it—most of the farmworkers, they, um, had programs trying to get them to go to school, but a lot of farmworkers could not go to school. They[sic] hands all cramped all up like that with arthritis, and they[sic] feets[sic] and stuff all messed up from all the, uh, sores and stuff working on the farm.
Muha
Right.
Matthew
And they—they just—they just could not—could not, um, take—they was[sic] offering us typing classes and computer classes and—wasn’t none[sic] of us computer literate at all, so…
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
It just was a mess.
Muha
Uh huh.
Matthew
So I—I landed a job taking people to school every morning.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
You know, picking them up in the evening for the trainings, but they knew that—the state knew that eventually they was gonna be that—deal with that. So the program close[sic] down and left the people shut out again. So you kept promising us—they kept promising us and promising us and trying to open up doors, and the doors that they were opening up, like the computer classes, they didn’t last long. The truck-driving classes did—I can’t tell you not[sic] a one man that got a job with the truck driving school.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
It just—every—there wasn’t nothing[sic] falling through. So right now, those of us that worked in the fields—all the promises that you made to us, right now, we don’t believe nothing[sic] you got to say. Don’t come telling me nothing[sic] about, “Well, they gonna open up a program, and this program going to help farmworkers do this,” ‘cause I’m not going to believe it because I’ve been deceived so many times. So that’s where we are now. So most of the farmworkers that work now, they’ll sit. They can’t do nothing[sic]. They’re on disability [insurance]. Our young farmworkers, you know—you done sprayed us with your chemicals all your life—all our life, because most children start working in the fields back in them[sic] days when you was[sic] six years old, you know? You take your children to work with you, but then, when it got in the—in the ‘9—‘80s, they: “Oh, you can’t bring your children in the field no more.” The damage is done. I had a daughter—three—had a stroke at three years old.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
Because she was in the field with me every day.
Muha
Right.
Matthew
You know? The damage is done. You done took ‘em out there for a few years, and then in the ‘80s, they decided that they wouldn’t let you—you bring your children in the field no[sic] more.
Muha
Mmhmm, alright. So—so you said after—after a lot of the black farmworkers were fired, most of them went to school on some program?
Matthew
Mmhmm, yeah.
Muha
[inaudible]…
Matthew
Yeah.
Muha
Numerous skills. Do you know what happened—So after they went to school, did they—did some of them find jobs in oth—other industries or…
Matthew
The only…
Muha
Do you know what happen to [inaudible]?
Matthew
Well, the only ones found[sic] jobs—the only African-Americans[sic] women…
Muha
Right.
Matthew
That found jobs was because of me, because there wasn’t a list of who were[sic] hiring you. There was a list of—for[sic] you could go and go to school to be retrained.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
That’s what they claimed. They was[sic] retraining us into other job fields, but what I did is[sic] I called different agencies that knew where women can get medical training, and a lot of women went to the medical training and they got jobs in nursing homes. They become what they call a “tech[nician].” They got jobs in nursing homes, they got jobs in shelters for boys and shelters for the handicapped, and the men—the men—they were hard—they were hard for the men. We got mens[sic] and—and—work up until [inaudible], and then they started dying. We lost a lot of farmworkers. Uh, at points you go to a funeral every weekend.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
Somebody you worked beside have[sic] died.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
Well, it was hard for a man to get a job. So the—the women became head of the house, and that’s when they lost their hand with the childrens[sic]. No respect in the house, because the man wasn’t there to put—to say nothing, ‘cause you’re not putting nothing in here, so the child[sic] looking at—you’re not putting nothing in here, so you don’t have no say here. So the—the bigger boys—they bullied their mama and all of that. So right now there’s a lot of crisis in people[sic] home, because the father was put out of work due to the closing of Lake Apopka.
Muha
Uh huh.
Matthew
They want to make Orange County this big metropolitan area. They swiped up all the orange trees. You can’t go pick oranges, but when you were—when you—when all of this stuff exists, you could take your childrens[sic] to the grove and make ‘em work. You—I could take you on a street here in Apopka, right now, with about 60 or 70 young men just standing on the corner, but they graduated from high school.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
But they still live home with their mama. They don’t think they[sic] got[sic] to go to work. The runs—they rule they[sic] mama[sic] house, but with me, it was a different story, because your butt was gonna go to work. You wasn’t[sic] gon’[sic] live in here and don’t[sic] work, you know, but a lot of parents scared[sic] of their children. They was[sic] afraid. They [inaudible] this day.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
The—the young boys run they[sic] mama’s house.
Muha
Mmhmm. Hm.
Matthew
It’s—it—it—it hurt us. It hurt us and I don’t think—I don’t think that our leaders of our country understand that. I don’t think they understand that—you got—and it’s so easy. It’s so easy to understand. You[sic] got to realize we come from slavery. We were poor. We were ran[sic] down all our lives. Now, you want us not to apply? The same thing you did to me not to apply it to my child? So my child disrespect[sic] me, because my child can say, “I’ll call the police on you.” Police come on out, what they gon’ do? Handcuff me and take me to jail, because I whipped his butt, ‘cause he stayed out all night long. That’s the way things are now.
Muha
Hm.
Matthew
And it really hurt the parent. It hurt—killing the parent. You can’t be a parent in your own house. Mm-mm. I got a 22-year-old grandson here with me. He just come[sic] back here. Last Saturday morning, I woke up, he laying[sic] in my bedroom with a girl. I said, “What is this?” I called him out and talked with him. This is no respect. All my life I respect[sic] my children. Now, this is no respect.
Muha
Jm.
Matthew
So I give[sic] him time[sic] period to get out of here. I’m not going—I don’t have to tolerate with that. I don’t have to tolerate with[sic] that, but you don’t want to go look for a job. He do[sic] not go look for a job. Daily, he laying[sic] up in here. You can’t—you—I mean, lack of work causing[sic] a lot of problems in your home, and there’s no work here for a young man.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
There’s no work.
Muha
Mmhmm. Well, thank you for telling me all[sic] that.
Matthew
Hm.
Muha
Um, so, I wanted to ask about ray[?]—okay, so I wanted to ask about—we were talking about, you know, what a lot of farmworkers did after they were either fired or after the shutdown of Lake Apopka farms. Um, for you—I—I know that you got involved in a lot of environmental justice work.
Matthew
Yes.
Muha
And I—I was wondering if you could tell me about that.
Matthew
Well, I was, um, like I said, advocating for poor people[sic] rights for a long time. Very young kid wi—with the organization, and, um, when I start[sic] with—working with the environment people in Orange County, it was like a different ballgame. I organized and organized and organized peoples[sic] to come to m—meetings, where we could talk about the rights of farmworkers, of laws that needed to be put in for farmworkers. Um, the first law I worked with was asking—giving farmworkers the right to know what type of pesticide was being used in the work area.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
That was the first law that we fought for. Finally, years of fighting in Tallahassee, years of walking the floors, I, um—they passed the law.[1] They finally passed the law.
Muha
What?
Matthew
Finally, they passed the law, giving us the right to know what type of farm work we were—what type of pesticide we were working in, after about 20 percent of African Americans in Apopka had passed away.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
And, um, we continue to fight for other improvements, like drinking clean drinking water in the fields.
Muha
Right.
Matthew
When I was there, there wasn’t clean drinking water. We finally got that deal passed, um, where we could have clean drinking water in the fields. Um, better working equipment for farmworkers, like rubber gloves, rubber boots, rain coats.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
And stuff like that. Some of the companies got away with it, but some of the companies went on and bowed down and gave us the equipment we—the proper equipment we needed to work in. Um, as far as going to the doctor, like accidents happen bad[sic] in the fields, and, um, we would go to the company doctor. Finally, we managed to get around that and, um, get a good—good—better medic[sic] care—medical care.
Muha
Yep.
Matthew
When we’d get cut sometimes, you know, we work with knives…
Muha
Right.
Matthew
And—and sometimes we get cut. Like you[sic] working here and somebody working there, they got[sic] their knives set up and you[sic] doing this here all day and your arm—elbow hit the knife and bust[sic] it all open. You got[sic] to go to the hospital, and they don’t take you to the hospital. They take you to a regular doctor, and he patch[sic] you up and send[sic] you home.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
We finally got, you know, help with that, but a lot of changes. We see a lot of changes, but it’s[sic] still a long way to go.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
Still a long way to go because they’re still using pesticide. They’re still making pesticide. They’re still using pesticide. Our babies are still being born deformed, so we have a long way to go.
Muha
Yeah, yeah. Absolutely, and, you know, you mentioned your—your kids and your grandkids…
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
A few times throughout this. I—I’m wondering how they perceived farm labor. Did any of them have interest in doing that, or…
Matthew
Well, my kids worked the fields.
Muha
Right.
Matthew
All six of my kids worked the fields. My grandkids never worked the fields, because when they came along, I was stone against them going in the fields. Um, they came along at the ending of the term, where[sic] children were no longer to go out there anyway. So they didn’t get a chance to work the fields, but, um, all of my kids did.
Muha
Mmhmm. Okay, and, um, lastly from you, I think, I wanted to ask about the book, Fed Up[: the High Costs of Cheap Food], um, by Dale Finley Slongwhite. Um, could you tell me a little bit about that and your part in that?
Matthew
Fed Up is a book that I’m proud of and I’m not proud of. The reason I say “I’m proud of,” because[sic] it was the first book that I ever had been involved in, and “I’m not proud of” is because I think that I left a lot out the book, and, um, I wanted to do three versions of the book. So I had[sic] talked with, um, what’s her name?
[phone rings]
Matthew
Do a second version and a third version, but if I can do the second version, maybe I could capture a lot of stuff I left out.
[phone rings]
Matthew
It’s like I was saying, um, there’s a lot I want to add to Fed Up. Um, and I would like more pictures in the book, because, um, peoples[sic] really need to actually see what our peoples[sic] are going through—um, the lesions on the s—the legs, the feet, the amputations of the toes, the amputation of the feet, legs—because of all of the pesticide where it had deteriorated the skin, and, um, I’d like to get more[sic] deeper into the labor camps. It’s[sic] a lot that I left out, because I wasn’t thinking. I’m thinking that, uh, when the book was gonna be wrote[sic], it gonna be like a mini-book [laughs]. I didn’t realize it was gonna be a story—um, a nice book. I’m just looking at it like it’s gonna be a—be a little, short mini-book, and, um, I imagine everybody that played a part in the book—about eight of us— I would imagine if—if everybody can really redo their story, it’ll be more awesome than what it is.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
Because a lot of people left out stuff that should’ve been told, you know? There was a—um, a lot of death in our family, due to, um, the DDT[2] that they used. People lost their family, and they didn’t talk about that in the book. Um, how we come from work and we[sic] riding on the bus, and when we get home, we think the other person sitting over on the bus sleeping[sic]. The person dead[sic], because of the chemicals that we worked in all day long.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
We didn’t talk about that in the book, and I would like to, you know, let people know these things actually happen. You[sic] going home from work and when you get there you[sic] hollering, “Mr. Clyde! Mr. Clyde!” And you—“Mr. Clyde!” You think he[sic] sleep. He[sic] dead, you know?
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
Those things happen, and we didn’t talk about none of that in the book. We didn’t know how much room or space or whatever we had in the book.
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
So I asked her about second and third version, and we didn’t—a lot of stuff—when I read the book, on my—my part of the book, I—I wasn’t pleased. I wasn’t happy with—with—with the part that I wrote—that she wrote for me, and then I read the other people[sic] part, and I know their history, and same thing with them. You know, they don’t talk about it, ‘cause[sic] when you say, uh, “We gon’[sic] write a book.” You know, you—you never wrote a book before, so you[sic] not—you[sic] not thinking good, you know?
Muha
Yep, right.
Matthew
But if we can—another book could re—be redid[sic] [laughs], it’d be awesome.
Muha
Yep.
Matthew
We left a lot out.
Muha
Well, is there anything—you said you—there are things you wanted—wish you could’ve included. Is there anything that you haven’t told me thus far that you want to include in this interview? Uh…
Matthew
Well, in—in—in the book? I talked a little about the treatment of the African-American women and the crew leaders. Not the growers, the crew leaders. I talked just a little bit about that. That should’ve been brought wide open. Should’ve been blowed[sic] up, because a lot of young girls have babies—they’ll never know who the father[sic], because the crew leaders and his[sic] what we call “henchmens”[sic] would come in and have sex with those girls like they was—they wanna, you know?
Muha
Yeah.
Matthew
And we didn’t express too much of that in the book.
Muha
Right.
Matthew
You know? If you had a father that drank, a mother that drank—oh, God. You didn’t have nobody[sic] in your corner. The crew leaders do whatever they want to do. Mmhmm, yeah.
Muha
Mmhmm.
Matthew
As I can recall, one time I was going—my mom had got[sic] me up early. Uh, our day begin[sic] by five o’clock, and she sent me to the store to get a loaf of bread and there was a man waiting in the dark on me when I got to get the bread, and he jumped right at me and grabbed me, but I was so fast I snatched the loaf from him and I ran home and I told my mom, and my mom went over there and my mom jumped on the man and told him don’t try anything like that on none[sic] of her childrens[sic] again in life. She would kill him, and I—we never had problems with him again, but just imagine if I had a mama that didn’t do that. Every time he saw me, he would’ve give[sic] me a problem.
Muha
Yep.
Matthew
But my mama let him know that, you know, she was not taking no crap like that.
Muha
Right.
Matthew
But then a lot of the girls, their mama never say[sic] one word, and it went over and over and over again.
Muha
Uh huh.
Matthew
Mmhmm.
Muha
Thank you for telling me that.
Matthew
Yes.
Muha
Is there anything else you want to tell me before we conclude the interview?
Matthew
That’s it.
Muha
That’s it.
Matthew
That’s about it.
Muha
Okay. Well, thank you so much, Geraldean.
Matthew
Okay.
Muha
Again, this was Jared Muha and Geraldean Matthew on October 30th, 2014. Okay, this is Jared Muha with Geraldean Matthew on October 30th again, uh, for a second session interview. Um, Geraldean, I wanted to ask, uh, what is your impression of, uh, farms today in Florida and, you know, treatment of Latino workers, uh, who are on the farms?
Matthew
You know, the farms today have changed very much because now most farmworkers, uh, get their own place to stay, but, as for the Latino workers—women—the ones that are still housed in labor camps, they are treated really bad[sic] by the crew leaders. If they are undocumented and have daughters, the crew leaders think that the daughter should be their woman or their wife or their girlfriend, and they mistreat the women very bad[sic]. Um, what brought that to my attention was, uh, when I was doing HIV[3] prevention, went into the homes talking and, um, passing out, uh, HIV materials on the camps, uh—how the men would treat the women when they tried to get protection. They didn’t want the women to get condoms for—from us or female condoms from us or whatever. So it’s a problem to me, because it seems like nobody[sic] really paying that Latino group attention, just like they didn’t pay the African-American group attention back in the ‘50s, ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s. So, um, it kind of bothers me a lot, you know, seeing that happening, and, um, seeing how the women have to take up their young children—their young daughters and run at night and try to find another place when the crew leaders come, um, pounding on their doors and demanding that they open the doors and demanding for[sic] sex. I don’t think that should be like that, and yes, it does disturb me.
Muha
Mmhmm. Well, thank you for telling me that. Uh, is there anything else you wanted to include?
Matthew
That’s it.
Muha
Okay.
Matthew
That’s all.
Muha
So this is Jared Muha and Geraldean Matthew on October 30th, 2014.
Dobson
This is an oral history interview of Bernie[1] [O.] Blackwood. Interview is conducted by Alexandra Dobson at the Blackwood home in Oviedo, Florida, on the 19th of March, 2015. Inter—interview topics include Oviedo, Mead Manor, and that’s it.
Blackwood
Well, my name’s Bernie Blackwood, and my association with Oviedo began in the early [19]50s. I was a student at Gainesville,[2] and I had a roommate named Bob Ward, who was a native of Oviedo, and I came to Oviedo on occasions on weekend with Bob, and got to know a little bit about the area. It was so different from my, uh, little home town in North Florida. I saw orange groves and celery fields and stuff, to—tobacco fields, uh—shade[?] tobacco fields it was up there, but, um, when I finished at Gainesville, I went right to work. I had a job waiting in Saint Petersburg[, Florida], and, uh, Bob and I kept in contact over the years, and through Bob I had met his brother, Ben Ward—Ben Ward, Jr., and, uh, we’d been in St. Pete four or five years. I—I guess it was around 1963 when Ben called me—Ben Ward, Bob’s brother—and said he was developing a subdivision. He and a group of, uh, investors and businesspeople here in O—Oviedo were developing a subdivision, and they had started, but they’d ran into a few troubles, and he knew I—through Bob—knew had a little—had—I had a little experience in land planning.
So he asked me if I’d come up, take a look at what he had, and I was glad to do it, because it gave me a chance to visit Bob, and Ben brought me out. it’s a 40-acre site in— northeast, uh, Oviedo—beautiful piece of land—and made it clear to me to—to begin with they wanted large lots, nice home sites, and the group of, uh, investors and businesspeople, who, uh, put their money up for this project, wanted the same thing. They wanted to grow Oviedo and they knew there was nothing in Oviedo, at that time. No lots available, really. I don’t think there’d been any residential lots added in Oviedo since probably the early 1900s, and—so I went to work on the plan, and, uh, came up with something that they agreed with.
Oh, I’m getting a little ahead of myself maybe, because they had actually started—they had, uh, put the group together, and they had paved a little section of Mead Drive, which is the entrance off of Division Street into Mead Manor, at that time, Three or four hundred—two or three hundred feet, I’d say, and then it made a right turn into a little cul-de-sac, and they had, uh—[laughs] they didn’t know quite where to go from there, because they had three—three swampy areas—little ponds in the 40 acres. So we developed a plan, uh, around those ponds, uh, with nice size lots and streets running around, and, uh, they approved the plan and, [clears throat] I came up one weekend—one Saturday with an engineer friend of my from St. Pete, and, uh, the streets had been, uh, cleared, and we shot grades, went back to St. Pete, and did a cut-and-fill plan, and presented that to the group, and they went from there and started developing the subdivision.
And the—they paved the streets, they put in paved streets with gutters, and they had a water system in Oviedo at that time, so it was on a water system, and the, uh, next, uh—next thing we knew, uh—I should say that before they started this project, there was no kno—knowledge of FTU[4] locating five miles south of Oviedo. It, eh—I asked Ben later, and he said “No,” uh, “We didn’t know it,” and I thought they were crazy, at the time, for—for footing this kind of subdivision and—and—[laughs] out in Oviedo with just a little crossroads farm community, and I didn’t know where the people were going to come from, and Ben said, “Oh, they’ll come.” He was an eternal optimist, and the next thing I knew, I read—read in The St. Pete[rsburg] Times where FTU was locating five miles south of Oviedo. So I began to be a little more interested in what was going on, and they began selling the lots. First lot they sold in here—or maybe the second one—uh, I know it was the first person from the university—was a man named Phil Gorey[sp] and he was a, um—one of the administrative people under Millican—Dr. [Charles Norman] Millican, and the, uh—the subdivision took off rather slowly, but they were selling lots. A lot across the street there was, uh—was, uh, [Joe] Gomez, uh…
Suzanne
He was a professor out there.
Blackwood
Yeah, What’s the first, uh…
Suzanne
Joe.
Blackwood
Uh…
Suzanne
Joe.
Blackwood
Joe. Yeah, Joe Gomez. He was a comptroller out at the university, and, uh, there were three or four, five, six—I mean, there half a dozen, at least, uh, different professors that started buying lots out, and some of them still here, like me [laughs]. I’m not a professor [laughs], um, and as the lots started selling, the land group—Oviedo Land Group was the name of the, uh—of the, corpora—or the company that Ben Ward put together, and the investors in it—I could—I can recall most of ‘em, I think. There was, uh, Frank Wheeler, John Evans, uh, I think Mr. Roy Clonts, probably, um…
Suzanne
Beleren[sp]?
Blackwood
Who?
Suzanne
Bob[?] Beleren? Was he one of ‘em?
Blackwood
No, no, not, uh, not, uh…
Suzanne
Okay.
Blackwood
Uh, uh…
Suzanne
Martin?
Blackwood
Yeah.
Suzanne
Bill…
Blackwood
Bill…
Suzanne
Martin?
Blackwood
Yeah, Bill Martin and John Evans. I might have…
Suzanne
Yeah.
Blackwood
Said him before, but anyway, it was a group of local businessmen and there were five or six of ‘em. I met with them a couple times, and, uh, didn’t really know them at—at all. I have since gotten to know them all, one time or another, and, uh—so they decided to buy another 40 acres just, uh, to the north of the first unit, and, uh I—again, I did a layout for them, and Ben developed it, and so it made a total of 80 acres here in Oviedo, and I—I’d be glad to drive you around and show you if you’d like to see it. Some of the developers’ve[sic] been dead, but during this time, Ben was still planning ahead and the next thing—he had a project. Another, uh—I think it was another 40 acres, and—and they—we worked up a subdivision for him on that—a layout, and it’s called [inaudible] Garden Grove. It’s right near here.
And, [clears throat] by that time, Ben, eh—he was originally—he had an insurance business, and, uh, uh—and a real estate brokerage business, and he was getting interested into building and construction. He said, “I’ve got all these lots. I might as well build some houses.” So he offered—gave me—he said, “Why don’t you come up and join me, and we’ll form a corporation and build—build a few houses,” and the idea appealed to me, but leaving my secure place in St. Pete—position I had and so forth—uh, it took a lot of soul searching, and I guess it—I probably thought about it for two or three years ‘fore—and, in the meantime, Ben and I were still working together on—on the projects up here, and, uh, I finally made the decision. I’ve gotta do it. I want to do it. I’d always been interested in construction and had some experience in that, and my[?]—my family wasn’t too eager about it at first.
Suzanne
[laughs].
Blackwood
The kids—I had a, uh, son[5] that was in the third grade and going—would be going into the fourth grade, and a daughter in the sixth grade, I believe, but they finally came around, and we moved up here, uh, second day of September, 1972. Went to work about the very next day and…
[phone rings]
Blackwood
The kids start…
[phone rings]
Blackwood
The kids started school the very next day after we got here, I think, and my family adjusted. They just loved Oviedo, and Sue[6] was a city girl. Sue was from Jacksonville.
Suzanne
[laughs].
Blackwood
And she didn’t think she wanted to move to Oviedo from St. Petersburg. We all loved St. Petersburg. I did too, but, um, we found Oviedo to be—the people here were the most gracious, welcoming. we never felt like a stranger, and part of that maybe was, because I came here with Ben Ward, who—his dad was a celery grower, and, uh, had—had groves here in town, and Ben had some land, and—quite a bit of land in and around Oviedo, and, uh, so we—we went from there. We started building houses, and, uh, Ben and I were together, uh, for four years, I think, and his interests were—was on development—land development, and mine…
[phone beeps]
Blackwood
Was more in construction, and I didn’t have the deep pockets to go into land development [laughs], but Ben, uh—he had a vision for this—for this little town, and he—he wanted to—nothing but quality development, and he was the only one developing land in Oviedo, and he was always, I thought, a little ahead of the market, and it was, uh—it cost him financially, but he did it, and after we, uh—we split, we remained friends, and met on a weekly basis and compared what each of us was doin’, until he passed away in—I think he passed away in ‘99, and [coughs] I never—I feel he never deserved the credit he did—he deserved—for what he did for this little town, because you can look around he—he’s re—responsible for Mead Manor, Garden Grove, Whispering Oaks….
Suzanne
Mmhmm.
Blackwood
Uh, Hill—Hillcrest, uh, Farms—I think was the name of it.
Suzanne
Uh, Windmilll…
Blackwood
Windmill Farms.
Suzanne
Farms.
Blackwood
Those were residential, uh, develops here.
Suzanne
How about Oviedo Oaks?
Blackwood
No, no, he didn’t—he didn’t develop that.
Suzanne
Hm.
Blackwood
Uh, and he also started—he did some commer—a couple of commercial projects. one of ‘em was, uh, Westwood Square. It was a commercial/industrial, uh, zoning area, and, uh, it’s completely built out now. Uh, do you know where, uh, Toucan—what—no, it’s—what’s the Spanish…
Suzanne
Habanero’s [Mexican Grill].
Blackwood
Habanero’s.
Suzanne
Yeah.
Blackwood
You know where that is?
Dobson
I drove by it.
Blackwood
That was part of Westwood Square. All of those b—back in there was developed, and there was nothing out there at the time—nothing, and nothing between there and Oviedo [laughs], and…
Suzanne
One little gas station.
Blackwood
Yeah, the—the, uh, Tiger—Tiger Station.
Suzanne
Yeah.
Blackwood
We called it, and, uh, then there’s another, uh, I believe it’s called Oviedo Office Park up to your—on [Florida State Road] 426 between Westwood Square and the city limits—what was the city limits then—or the high school, say—and it’s a very nice commercial development, and it had doctor’s offices, uh, and that—that type of commu—uh, development, and, like I say, we—we came here—we’ve been here for 43 years now, and I could never move Sue from—get her out of this house or out of this city.
Suzanne
[laughs].
Blackwood
She loves it and the kids love it. My daughter lives in Tallahassee, and, uh, she—she’s down here quite often. My son works with me, or did work with me. He runs the business now. I’m just—I’m retired. I go in and aggravate him every day a little bit [laughs]. Uh, I don’t know. Do you have any questions from there? I’d be glad to drive you around a little Oviedo and show you some of these projects if you have the time…
Dobson
Okay.
Blackwood
Or the inclination.
Dobson
Sure, thank you.
Suzanne
Take her to, um, Whispering Oaks, ‘cuz that’s…
Blackwood
Yeah.
Suzanne
Really…
Blackwood
Well, they’re all nice.
Suzanne
Really, pretty, yes, Whispering Oaks has beautiful trees, but…
Dobson
Um…
Blackwood
Have I missed anything Sue?
Suzanne
I don’t’ think so. I think—I was amazed at how well you [laughs]…
Blackwood
Uh…
Suzanne
Covered everything.
Blackwood
Well, you know, that’s—that’s about it with, uh, my—my interests in Oviedo. It was…
Suzanne
I…
Blackwood
Was primarily building. I built all these years and…
Suzanne
Do you know what the population was when we moved here?
Blackwood
I should’ve…
Suzanne
[inaudible].
Blackwood
Gone into that. It was about 2000, and, uh, it was about the same when I visited 10 years earlier. It hadn’t grown a bit. I don’t think it grew a bit from—I should’ve included this in it—from the ‘30s and on up to the ‘60s, and this development right here[7] was what started the growth in Oviedo, uh, after—after, um—no. I guess it was the edges[?] of [inaudible], uh, track builders started coming into Oviedo. The, uh, uh, Jacobs brothers owned two thousand acres of land where O—where Alafaya Woods is now and that area over there, uh—Twin Rivers and that area. They sold it to a group in Atlanta in the early [19]70s, and Bob pretty well fell out of construction for a while there, and nothin’, eh—I don’t know if that company went bankrupt or what, but they sold it to the Anden Group, and the Anden Group is a group that developed Alafaya Woods [clears throat], and it was a little bit, uh—it was, uh, a different type development than what Ben had been developing. I think he’d be surprised today if he knew how, um—he felt that—that Oviedo never had, uh—be, uh, anything but small, rural community [inaudible] with good home sites. ‘Course he knew, and I knew too, that when the university located there, sooner or later it was gonna affect Oviedo in a big way [coughs], and it did, but, uh…
Suzanne
Is—is Tom Phillips next door still teaching?
Blackwood
Yeah, he’s a professor over—no. he’s not teaching, but he’s retired.
Suzanne
He’s retired? Okay.
Blackwood
Yeah.
Suzanne
Yeah.
Blackwood
That’s—that’s probably…
Suzanne
We were surrounded by them.
Blackwood
Yeah, when we first moved here, the—‘course, this was, you know—all the professors had kids and we had kids, and it’s, uh, changed a couple times since then. You’ve got, uh, uh, older families that moved out, newer families with kids that moved in, and, uh, and, uh, and we’ve stuck—stuck here [laughs] all those years, but, um, we’ve seen the growth in Oviedo from two thousand to…
Suzanne
Yeah.
Blackwood
What? 35,000 now, probably.
Dobson
Do you think it was just the university that did that, or…
Suzanne
Pretty…
Blackwood
Well…
Suzanne
Pretty much.
Blackwood
It, uh—pretty much, I think. The [Central Florida] Research Park out there—and of course, it—it—Oviedo [clears throat]—it grew to be a—it had a very good school system.[8] I should’ve mentioned that. When—when we moved here, my son was going into the fourth grade, and we—he went to a school right across from where we lived, practically, in St Pete. He could walk to school, and they had gotten into the new, uh—let the kid reach his potential, don’t push him, don’t push him.
Suzanne
Mmhmm.
Blackwood
And…
Unidentified
[clears throat].
Blackwood
I went and talked with the teacher about it, and—“Oh, Scott’s doin’ fine,” And it didn’t…
Suzanne
[laughs].
Blackwood
Seem to me that he was doin’ fine, and she said, “Oh, no, no. he’s fine.” Well, when we got here, he had teachers like Ms. [Margeurite] Partin.
Suzanne
Partin Elementary [School] was named after her, and she was a wonderful teacher.
Blackwood
And Ms. Gore, and s—same teachers that taught Ben Ward, and Bob Ward—that group. They were still there, and she went to work on Scott and brought him up to speed. He didn’t—he didn’t even know his multiplication tables, and [laughs]…
Suzanne
Does now [laughs].
Blackwood
And all of the kids here did, but she—she put him to work on ‘em and you[?]—he learned real quick[sic], and caught up, and did alright, But it—it was just a great place to raise your kids, and, uh, I—I just can’t say enough about the—the town and about—about the guy that really got it goin’.
Suzanne
Yeah.
Blackwood
Ben Ward.
Suzanne
I think so too.
Blackwood
You get the chance to give him a plug—he’s long gone. his wife still lives here in Ovi—in, uh, Mead Manor, and his kids—he has one—one kid that lives in Tuscawilla and the rest of ‘em are scattered around.
Suzanne
Tuscawilla was not here at all when we moved here.
Blackwood
Well, it was too. It was one road…
Suzanne
[inaudible].
Blackwood
Called Dyson Road[9] comin’ off of, uh, Tuskawilla Road—Dyson—and they had…
Suzanne
Dyson, yeah.
Blackwood
They—they just started developing a few lots there. That’s a beautiful sub—one of my favorite subdivisions. The area is Tuscawilla.
Dobson
Mm, what kinds of things has Blackwood Construction [Corporation] done?
Blackwood
We did primarily single-family and, uh, small commercial. We did, uh, dental office for Bob Beleren over in Winter Springs[, Florida], and that sort of thing, but we built over 500—we’ve got—I think we got…
Suzanne
563 [laughs].
Blackwood
Well, some of ‘em weren’t—some of ‘em in the recent years have just been small jobs…
Suzanne
And Lutheran Haven. mention Lutheran Haven.
Blackwood
Yeah, we did—we built most of Lutheran Haven projects out of, uh—duplexes.
Suzanne
You’ve probably passed Lutheran Haven on your way in. Yeah.
Dobson
Could be…
Suzanne
Hm.
Dobson
I’m not sure.
Suzanne
[inaudible].
Dobson
I’m really not that familiar [laughs]…
Suzanne
It’s a big Lutheran church, and they—it has a retirement for us—little du—duplexes.
Dobson
Okay.
Blackwood
Its’ a…
Suzanne
Its’ a…
Blackwood
And a—and a, uh, nursing home now. Uh, we could even—if you’ve got time, I’ll drive you all over. show you—show you a little bit of Oviedo.
Dobson
Okay [laughs], Thank you.
Suzanne
Don’t want to live here? [laughs].
Dobson
Yeah [laughs]. Um, I actually moved to Orlando from St. Pete for the same reasons.
Suzanne
Oh, my goodness.
Dobson
[laughs].
Blackwood
Oh, really?
Suzanne
[laughs].
Dobson
To get my son in a better school.
Suzanne
Aww.
Blackwood
Aw, really?
Dobson
Yeah, I don’t…
Suzanne
Well, you know, we thought the schools there were just great, ‘til we moved here.
Blackwood
Well, I didn’t think they were great, because I didn’t think our—our boy was learning anything.
Suzanne
Yeah, well…
Blackwood
And—and another thing, uh, we got caught up right in the Civil Rights [Movement]—we—you know where Bay Vista Elementary [School] is?
Dobson
Mmhmm.
Blackwood
We lived within a block of Bay Vista, at that time, and the kids walked to school, and it was a fairly new school then, and, uh, eh, I think, 11 or—yeah, she was in the fifth grade when all the civil rights—and they started bussing kids, and she got bussed to the school right in the middle of St.—black school in the middle of St. Pete.
Suzanne
I don’t remember what the school was—the— the name of the school.
Blackwood
I don’t remember.
Suzanne
Yeah.
Blackwood
But [laughs] it—it, uh—it was only for that one year, and she got along fine.
Suzanne
Yeah, she did.
Blackwood
She didn’t have any problems, but…
Suzanne
She—she made some good friends there.
Blackwood
It just didn’t make sense to take kids that [laughs] could walk to school and pay a bus to drive them somewhere else.
Suzanne
[laughs] It was probably a good experience.
Blackwood
Well, you [inaudible]—how—how long did you live in St. Pete?
Dobson
Uh, five or six years.
Suzanne
You weren’t born there then?
Dobson
No.
Blackwood
From when to when?
Dobson
Uh, it was recent. I’ve been in Orlando for three years.
Blackwood
Three years?
Dobson
Yes.
Blackwood
Oh, well, you saw—you’ve seen the downtown area really change.
Dobson
Yes, it has [laughs].
Blackwood
We—we—I graduated on Saturday night, and we packed up everything, and we had. I met Sue at [the University of] Florida her—her senior year [laughs], and…
Suzanne
Just about.
Blackwood
And, uh, we packed up everything. We—we got married, uh, my last semester there. we got married, and she’d graduated the semester ‘fore I did. She’s smarter than I am.
Suzanne
[laughs].
Blackwood
And we moved to St. Pete on Sunday, and I started work Monday. I was, uh—I worked as a city planner for 14 years ‘fore I came here.
Dobson
Wow. What kind of things did you do?
Blackwood
What kind of work?
Suzanne
Yeah.
Blackwood
Well, uh, we—are—are you—if you’re familiar with the parks system in Oviedo—just to give you an example—uh, in, uh, St. Pete, um—Southside Park—you know the 40-acre park down Lakewood Elementary [School]?
Suzanne
Mmhmm.
Blackwood
And all of that? That was a plan that we came up with. Oh, oh—we developed a five-year pl—plan. We had a great city manager named Lynn [H.] Andrews, from about the time I went there until he left in ‘69, and he had a—a capital improvement program—a five-year, capital improvement program, and every year, they would, uh, budget certain projects, and at the end of the year, you’d see if the money was spent right on those projects [inaudible]. He—he’d project the five years another year, but he adjusted every year during that five years, and, uh, he built the, uh—had the, uh—Bayfront Center was built, the museum downtown, the waterfront—the city park of the waterfront, Northeast Park, there was all developed while he was there. The pier—inverted pier—was built, and I was all part of all that, and it was just interesting and fun, until he left, and we got another manager, and I just did not enjoy working anymore.
Suzanne
Oh.
Blackwood
That’s how I happened to come here.
Suzanne
I think that was the time to come here.
Dobson
What was civil rights like in St. Pete? What was your experience with it?
Blackwood
Well, uh, my main experience—it was no problem. 16th Street was kind of, uh—they[?] had their riots and things during the time.
Dobson
They still do [laughs].
Blackwood [laughs] And my main memory of it—and this was why Lynn Andrews left St. Petersburg. I’m sure. In ‘68 or ‘69 when they, um, allowed public employees to be unionized—the garbage department became unionized, and they went on strike one year, and Mr. Andrews, uh, negotiated with ‘em and got ‘em back—not a big break in service. The very next year, they went on strike again, and he—on Monday morning, they didn’t show up for work. the whole garbage department didn’t show up for work, and he gave them an ultimatum. He said that “Anyone that’s not back on the job by Thursday of this week will be permanently terminated—all benefits and everything.” Well, they—the union didn’t believe him, I guess, because a big percent—some did come back. Within a week he had completely re-staffed that from people from Georgia—different people looking for jobs. He completely re-staffed the garbage department, and a lot of employees lost their jobs, and from that point on, The St. Pete Times took up the position of the strikers. They marched on city hall every day, and he didn’t yield. It’s kinda like Ronald Reagan and, uh—and the, uh, uh, air [traffic] controller strike. You’re probably too young to even remember that.
All
[laughs].
Blackwood
But he did the same thing, and, um, from that day on, anything that, that Lynn Andrews did—and I was privy to what was going on there, he would be lambasted in The St. Pete Times for it, and after about, uh, a year of that he, uh—he went back to Tex—he came to St. Pete from San Antonio, Texas, as the city manager, and he went back as the city manager of, uh, Austin, Texas. When he came to St. Pete, he brought his finance director, um, his assistant city manager, and the budget director—was, uh—that group came. When he left, they all went with him, except one, and he left the city and went to work for First Federal [Bank of Florida].
Dobson
Wow, That’s impressive. Keeping your staff with you.
Suzanne
And they were good, good men, weren’t they?
Blackwood
Good men, all of ‘em. yeah, Smart men. I often said. If he’d of run for president. I woulda…
Suzanne
[laughs].
Blackwood
I woulda—he—he was firm, but he was fair, But, uh, no. We—we love St. Pete. We go back every now and then, when we get a chance. [inaudible]…
Suzanne
How many people weren’t up there anymore?
Blackwood
Yeah, most of my old buddies are gone. [laughs]. Yeah.
Dobson
It’s still a lovely place to visit.
Suzanne
Yeah, and the downtown is so—with the waterfront—is so nice now.
Blackwood
You know, I went down for a job interview, and Sue went with me, and that was before we were married. I went—I got a summer job there, and, uh [laughs], we drove into St Pete from—came down 30—34th Street, turned left on Central [Avenue] and got downtown, and I—we—this was in April.
Suzanne
[laughs].
Blackwood
We saw nothin’ but green benches and gray heads, and that’s quite a shock comin’ from Gainesville.
Suzanne
From Gainesville, yeah, where everybody’s young to…
Blackwood
Where everybody’s young.
Suzanne
To where everybody’s old.
Blackwood
[laughs].
Suzanne
[laughs] but it was a good place to live.
Blackwood
It—yeah.
Suzanne
[inaudible].
Blackwood
It—it—it had something for everybody then, but the majority—I think 25 percent of the population then was 65 or older. It had, uh—I knew at the time, the population was 180 thousand when, uh, we moved there, and I think it was about 22 5[thousand] when we left. I don’t know what it is now, but it had pretty well built out. There wasn’t much developable land in St. Pete, other than up and around Whedon’s[sic] Island area.
Suzanne
What part of St. Pete did you live in?
Dobson
Um, I lived on First Avenue North and 25th Street. So…
Blackwood
25th Street? [inaudible].
Dobson
Almost downtown.
Blackwood
Uh huh, al—yeah.
Suzanne
We lived almost downtown when we first moved there.
Blackwood
We had a little garage apartment, uh…
Suzanne
Right near the hos—near Mound[?] Park Hospital.
Blackwood
No, no. our garage apartment was, uh, up on the Northside.
Suzanne
Oh, that one?
Blackwood
About 26th Avenue North, and then we—we bought a, um—an old, 50-year-old apartment building down on 11th Avenue South, and I could walk to work from there—to City Hall, and we—we moved in— fixed up one unit and moved in it, and as a tenant left, we’d remodel that tenant[sic]—that unit and fix it up. Made a nice place.
Suzanne
Was your son…
Blackwood
Oh.
Suzanne
Born there?
Dobson
Uh, he was born in Clearwater. I lived in Clearwater, Largo, Dunedin [laughs].
Suzanne
Oh.
Blackwood
You ever heard of Fred Marquis?
Dobson
I don’t think so.
Blackwood
He was county manager there in Pinellas County for 25 years, I guess. I think he set a record for it, but he…
Suzanne
[laughs].
Blackwood
He—he was a planner, uh, with, uh—in St. Pete with me [coughs]. He came there right out of graduate school, and, uh, worked there, and we became good friends, but I hadn’t been in touch with him for years. Uh, he’s—he’s—he’s since retired.
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
PODCAST
DOCUMENTARIES
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
Washington
Shores
Federal
Savings And Loan Association
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.
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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…
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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.”
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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…
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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…
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Stapleton
Please visit the Orange County Regional History Center at 65 East Central Boulevard, Orlando, Florida, 32801.
Episode 43
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Make sure to join us for our next episode entitled “Surf Boards.”
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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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Cassanello
I’m Robert [A.] Cassanello, assistant professor of history at the University of Central Florida, and you’re listening to the RICHES documentary podcast.
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 will 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, The Legacy of the Ocoee Race Riot of 1920, Julio [R.] Firpo produced this podcast and Russell Moore narrates it, which examines the long term impact of this event on the region.
Moore
On January 18th, 2010 the city of Ocoee heads to their fourth annual Martin Luther King Unity Parade and Celebration. The parade was planned by Ocoee’s Human Relations Diversity Board. The board aims to bring together all ethnic groups and make them feel as part of the community. William Maxwell has lived in Ocoee for over 15 years, and is the current chairman for the Human Relations Diversity Board. He elaborates of the purpose of the event.
Maxwell
Tomorrow is, of course, designed to really promote our mission statement, which is that of uniting the—the races, the businesses, and the churches in the city of Ocoee around that bridge of, of ethnical, uh, components that make up our community to make sure that we have some dignity, we have some respect of one another as individuals, and to ultimately raise the level of awareness of each group towards the existence of the other group so as to facilitate a more harmonious and racial profile in the eyes of our, uh, community, in the eyes of our county, and state, and take it to whatever level.
Moore
Ocoee was the center of a race riot in 1920. Paul Ortiz is a professor at the University of Florida, and the director of the Samuel Proctor Oral History Program. He has written on race relations in Florida, and was the keynote speaker for the 2009 Martin Luther King, Jr. parade. He explains the origin of the Ocoee Race Riot of 1920.
Ortiz
Well, what happened in Ocoee was something that was happening all throughout the state of Florida, and, in fact, all throughout the South. And 1920 was a presidential election year, and it was also a—a census year. It was a year where apportionment was going to happen. It was a year when African Americans throughout the entire country were registering to vote in a record numbers[sic]. And they were often using their wartime service as a[sic], uh, example of, you know, saying, “Hey, we went to France in very large numbers. we—we volunteered, we signed up, we fought in World War I, we served this country, we fought this war for freedom. Now we’re coming back to a country which considers us to be second class citizens.”
And so there were these huge voter registration campaigns in black communities throughout the state of Florida, and Ocoee was no different than—than any other of these communities. And when people tried to vote in Ocoee, they were turned away from the polls, but they came back. There was a gun battle that occurred, and that led to a huge—a larger gun battle, which became a massacre. uh, most African Americans were driven out of Ocoee within a very short period of time. But that Election Day massacre here, again was part of a larger story. I mean, here were Election Day massacres that occurred in other parts of Florida, as well. The violence was aimed at stopping black people from voting. and—and in a larger symbolic sense, stopping them from feeling that they had a stake in society, that they could become involved politically. Because if they became involved politically in 1920, that’s the end of segregation. That’s the end of Jim Crow. And the entire system would’ve came tottering down.
Moore
Lester Dabbs is a former Ocoee mayor and commissioner, and served on the Human Relations Diversity Board. He wrote his master’s degree thesis on the Ocoee Riot. He stumbled upon an interesting discovery while conducting his research.
Dabbs
What I was able to ascertain is that it was a cover-up from the FBI [Federal Bureau of Investigation] all the way down the community, the—the city, the society was in denial about the ramifications of the—of the riot. It came about because of the rising influence of a couple of, uh, African-American, uh, labor organizers—or labor people—who, if you wanted any lettuce picked or oranges picked or what not, you had to go through either July Perry[1] or Moses Norman.
That was the center cause, and the other situation, uh, Judge [John Moses] Chaney[sp] was, uh, arresting blacks in west Orange County who voted in the 1920 election, so it was a combination of factors. The, uh, FBI sent agents from, um, North Carolina, South Carolina, and I believe it was Georgia—anyway, three southern states to determine what was [laughs] —what was wrong, and there was no blame affixed. And uh, as I understand it, the grand jury report is still sealed. I know two people who’ve tried to gain access to it through the state attorney’s office, and it’s still sealed. So there was a veil of secrecy, so to speak, over the situation.
Moore
Decades after the riot, Ocoee still had a racial stigma surrounding the town. Joy Wallace Dickinson writes a weekly column in The Orlando Sentinel called “Florida Flashback,” which covers topics regarding Central Florida history. As a long term Central Floridian, she reflects on Ocoee’s past.
Dickinson
Uh, there are plenty of anecdotes. Again just from my own experience, I had a high school friend that told me, um—this would be back in the [29]50s or ‘60s—that there were [clears throat] black drivers that worked for her father’s business that wouldn’t go near Ocoee. I mean, if a delivery had to be made out there, somebody else had to do it. So, I think there was certainly, clearly a feeling that, uh, that was the place that black people not only were not welcome, but—but were—that they were afraid to go there.
One of the, uh, leaders of the reconciliation movement, um, Jarred Gurley[sp], who is a lawyer now, but he was one of the leaders of the West Orange reconciliation task force. And I can remember him saying, he, he—he’s African American, and he said to his wife, “Well, why,” you know, “We can buy the same house that we’re looking at in MetroWest than Ocoee for so much less. why don’t we moved there?” And she had grown up in Orange County and said, “No way. Black people don’t just live in Ocoee. We wouldn’t do that.”
But you know the economics were so great more people did, more you know more African Americans said, “Well, let’s do. Let’s buy that house there.”
Ortiz
I think it takes time. When I was a graduate student I actually came to Ocoee, and I was invited by a small group of people, who at the time were trying to tell the story about what happened in November 1920. And they felt completely marginalized by the larger community, and they felt really—they did a public event—I think it was at a local bookstore—it was very controversial. And now—you know, I don’t want to exaggerate the changes that have taken place, but now it seems that Ocoee is moving, uh, a little further along the road.
Dabbs
I received a call from Dr. Paul Ortiz—he spoke at the last[?] one, back in January—wanting to know my reaction to what impact of Martin Luther King Day parade had on the city, etc., etc. etc. Now I’ve, uh, had the black prince from Apopka tell me that how envious they are of Ocoee [laughs] for—for being gutsy enough to—to do this, uh, sort of thing. I, I think it was uh, uh, an excellent, uh, idea. I was able to get I think six sponsors, and uh, it’s uh—it’s going to be an annual thing. We’ve had three I think, and uh, but it was the brain child of the Human Relations Diversity Board, and, and Danny Barene[sp], uh, the police of chief of Eatonville of the time—it was his suggestion, which we, uh, took hold of and made happen.
Dickinson
In—in 2000, there had been an event a couple of years before that, uh, in which a couple of groups had put on a program in Ocoee, and it was—it was just tremendously volatile. It was considered a taboo to even talk about it. Um, particularly in, uh—in Ocoee. It was very upsetting to people. It—it was absolutely, sort of socially verboten to even acknowledge that it had happened.
And uh, over those 10 years, there have been numerous things that have happened that have sort of built a spirit of reconciliation in many people involved. One of them being, placing a stone at the—the grave of July Perry in Greenwood Cemetery in Orlando, and, uh, many other things.
But when—when Ocoee that first Martin Luther King Parade several years ago—I think this is the four one—that was considered a—a quite an, uh—an amazing turn of events, and, uh, now it’s gotten even, you know, more established as a—as an event that they would have a Martin Luther King parade. And I think that’s come to symbolize the changes in Ocoee and west Orange County.
Moore
Lester Dabbs explains the creation of the Ocoee Human Relations Diversity Board.
Dabbs
It was created, because city, uh, recognized that we have to get past the unsavory events of 1920 to—to come kicking and thrashing into the 21st century. There was an unofficial body that the former city manager—now deceased—lent support to and that was the West Orange Reconciliation Task Force.
There was a riot in, um, Wilmington, North Carolina. They had had uh, a reconciliation at up there, a force that, uh, tell the story, you know, acknowledge the event, etc. and so we brought him the curator—the director—of that reconciliation in Wilmington here and, uh, we have, uh, —did have until last year—an annual affair where we gathered in the abandoned cemetery and what not. We bought headstones for July Perry, the man who was taken out of the jail and hanged on Lake Adair.
And we’ve done any number of things, but this was an unofficial body. It was sanctioned by the city manager but it was not an arm of the City [of Ocoee] officially. So, as we progressed in making progress in that area, the City saw the opportunity and took advantage of it to build upon the good will that we were creating to form an official body appointed by the [Ocoee] City Commission. It had great diversity initially, and I guess still does. But that was an effort to again ensure that everyone got a fair shake in the—the city um, for job opportunity, business opportunity, etc.
Cemeteries—white or black—are places of, uh, worthy of upkeep, and restoration, and what not. And the City abandoned this Negro cemetery in the mid-50s. There was a cemetery committee here that was charged with overseeing both the white and the black cemetery, but they dropped the black cemetery in, uh—I don’t know, ‘53, ‘55, something like that. And it just went further and further into the variation.
Ortiz
We are able to use now, certain days—like Martin Luther King Day for example—as an opening to create a space to talk about these types of events. And the thing we have to understand of course, as you all know, is that they occurred all across the country, and you know Tulsa[, Oklahoma]—I was just reading about the Tulsa race riot, for example—and—and Tulsa—the race there in 1921, um, was even larger and involved a huge amount of destruction of property and—and human life. And I think what it takes is kind of, uh, a coalition, if you will, both of people who have locally—you obviously need people who think historically—but you need, you need people who are not afraid to—to talk. To sit down out a table and just kinda put it out there, and say, “Well, let’s talk about the meaning of this.” Um, and I think now in what I’m hearing from—from this community is that people really want to—to actually, uh, talk.
Dickinson
And also, I think more people moved in that had no—I mean, more white people moved in—that had no idea this heritage were from other places, and it—it—there’s change on all kinds of levels, including on [inaudible] people that have lived there a long time. it’s not just all new folks. I think there’s been a change of heart, and I think also in—in along those lines, I mean, I’ve always been impressed that—I think this was a tremendous burden psychologically on white Ocoee as—as well as black. I—it’s, it’s—it’s really a deep scar. and I mean, there are anecdotes about—I’ve read in one of the—one of the accounts of the event that a—a long term doctor in West Orange would have people come to him and break down in tears for remembering that night and the fear that happened. So both races certainly suffered a lot I think from it. Psychologically and in other ways.
Maxwell[?]
I believe that the behavior that we see in our community, uh—especially human behavior—uh, is a direct result of knowledge. And I believe that it’s, it’s through events that we’re doing right now, that we can enhance the knowledge of the general public and raise their awareness, uh, to a level that they haven’t, uh, experienced before.
Dickinson
I’ve—I’ve had reactions every time I’ve written about it. I think that usually comes from—from folks that—and I—I don’t know, because that’s one of those things about anonymous postings. You really don’t know. But it usually comes from folks who—who live in Ocoee and are really tired of being—being, um, described in a negative way and—and that sort of thing. And—and by the way, I—I think there probably are African Americans who say this same sort of thing, “This is very painful, we don’t want to hear about it.”
I, um—I think it is important to bring it up, uh, and it’s something I—I struggle with each time, but I think—I, I think, you know, if you care about history, you have to believe there are just lessons to be learned from the past. And it’s a tremendously compelling story, and—and I think one of the themes of it is how good people can get themselves into situations, in which they cause several things to happen, and they don’t realize it. They don’t realize they’re getting themselves into it. And I think that’s one of the lessons of the story, and by that, I mean, I think now—from today’s perspective, I think middle class white people sort of think that—many times think of the—the KKK [Ku Klux Klan] as I— as something that thugs engage in. But at the time they, the Ku Klux Klan was as presented as a popular fraternal organization for—for southern professional men. And, uh, I think many men joined it thinking that they were upholding some kind of values of the Old South or whatever—anyway without really expecting that they might get into situations in which there would be death and destruction.
Moore
Slowly over time this small Central Florida community has come to grips with its contentious past.
Cassanello
Thank you for listening to the RICHES Documentary Podcasts. Feel free to contact us with any questions or comments on the program that you just heard. Please join us for the next episode Serving the Community-The New Deal Post Office of Cocoa Florida, In which Heather Bollinger] examines the history of the iconic building, now home to the Florida Historical Society.
[1] Julius Perry.