PERDIDO WHAT? PERDIDO KEY?

Oh.... Well, I remember when...

By Baker Holman

Continued (2)

This began our annual summer sojourns to places along the Gulf, from Biloxi, MS to Panama City, FL, but mostly in the Pensacola area. When I became an adult, the siren call of the beaches lured me to Pensacola, where I have lived ever since. My first memories of this area relate to the vegetation and beaches. Yaupon, palmetto, Florida cactus, sand pines, magnolia trees were everywhere. Sea oats, rosemary and sandspurs covered the dunes. Snakes, skunks and raccoons were commonplace. The local Gulf ecology was unique. Its indigenous plants had their own pristine beauty, and wild life abounded.

So, I'm not a native, not a Florida Cracker by birth, but by choice. Incidentally, it took me a long time to learn where the expression "Florida cracker" came from. It dates to the early eighteen hundreds before Florida became a state.

Much of the land in Central and South Florida was open land, used to graze cattle. It was wilderness, much as it must have been when DeSoto first landed on the Florida shore. At intervals the cattle were rounded up and herded to Fort Myers on the Gulf, then shipped to market. During this process of herding, cattlemen used whips which they cracked loudly to get the cattle moving in the right direction. You don't hear much of Florida Crackers anymore, but this expression became associated with early natives of the state.

The landmark for Gulf Beach was "the old hotel," whose skeleton remained until recently. Construction on this building began in the twenties during the Florida land boom. The hotel was a pacesetter planned by the patriarch of the Baars family, Theodore D. Baars, Sr. When the boom busted, construction came to a screeching halt. Baars was a man of vision. Even if completed, there's no way of knowing whether the hotel would have been successful, but considering the time, he gets an A+ for effort.

In the early twenties the only building at the end of the road to Gulf Beach was a shacky sort of pavilion. Saturday nights the pavilion rocked to the sound of an extraordinary group of black musicians, the Anderson Douglas Band. Teenagers loved this kind of environment and loud music, just as they do today.

A tract of land on Perdido Key belonged to the federal government and a navy military base was established just south of the canal bridge. Two or three concrete slabs are the only remnants of this navy base. Shells can still occasionally be found around sand dunes that served for target practice.

After the base was abandoned, the federal government decided in the fifties to auction this land, with lots reportedly going for about $3000. I've often thought what a wonderful park this could have been.

Referring back to the canal bridge, in very early times there was a ferry here, pulled back and forth by ropes. Later it was replaced by a drawbridge. Once I was with my small children standing by the bridge when it was up, waiting for a tug to push barges through. Before the high-rise bridge was completed, tugboat captains considered this to be one of the more difficult turns to navigate in the Intercoastal Waterway because of the narrow bridge passage, and tidal currents. The pilot at the wheel of the tugboat steered the barges just one foot too far to the left. Ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, down went the wooden pilings as neatly as pins knocked down by a bowling ball. My children cheered this remarkable feat of inaccuracy! Honestly, although I regretted the accident for all affected, I considered it a great show too. How many tugboat pilots can roll a perfect strike?