St. Augustine – America’s oldest city

Arrival

We had arrived in St. Augustine for a summer vacation. Beaches, seafood, fun, and all the required elements were assembled and ready for such an event. But it was not by accident that our first venture outside the greater Atlanta area would be to St. Augustine. A place I had, growing up and living within eight hours much of my adult life, never visited. I consider myself a bit of a historian, if you will. So, I couldn’t help but wonder why I had never been to America’s oldest continually inhabited city. I couldn’t imagine a better reason to make our first trip in America a first for us both. Why not visit the city that helped start it all back in 1565? September 8, to be exact. The date most agree that Don Pedro Menendez de Aviles landed with his troops in the name of the Spanish crown.

After grabbing a few things for the house, wine, snacks, drinks, and whatever else the kids could need, we checked into our rental home and quickly unpacked. There were many protests as I ushered everyone, big and small, to help haul luggage and supplies into the house. I think a combination of exhaustion and eagerness propelled everyone to beg for rest and help unload simultaneously. But I, a typical middle-aged dad, had no time for pleasantries. I knew that if I didn’t force the hated march, pushing relentlessly forward as any combat-hardened General would, the task of unloading the car would be my own.

First Impressions

The Spanish moss hung beneath the mighty limbs of the live oak splayed across the adjacent properties. The tree is so majestic in the friendly neighborhood just off the main square that I had to take pictures of it from multiple angles. The red 19th-century house next door, complementing the ancient live oak and Spanish moss-draped across its landscape, projected in me a sense of adventure and unknown tales before us. But that must wait. The pressing matter was to fill the adventurers on the journey with little time to contemplate. One must act quickly to overload the senses early on if one is to procure time with the muses. The common sense being pressed upon now was hunger. The open road had consumed countless calories in lazy naps and the occasional stir of “are we there yet?”. Whether energy consumption was justified or not, it was time to eat.

Jennie clarified in her discussions with mom on the way to St. Augustine that she was a unique seven-year-old. She had been in the U.S. long enough. She wanted to see the bounty American coastal life had to offer. Lisa was in no hurry to protest a good plate of seafood, nor was Diem. I found a place nearby that satisfied every demand, and we headed there without delay. The requests included lobster, king crab, snow crab, hell, any crab, crawfish, oysters, and on and on. We pulled into one of those seafood boil places, which seemed more numerous here than even in the suburbs of Atlanta. I noticed over the week that few restaurants were without the almost ubiquitous seafood boil on their menus.

That seafood place

The restaurant was such a cookie cutter of the recent cajun boil house trend that its name is lost to me now. The spicy crab, or juicy cuttlefish, or some other mundane designation. It was relatively empty when we walked in. The restaurant sat on the outskirts—more in the suburbs of St. Augustine. You know, where reasonably sized cities house their chain restaurants and Walmarts. This is where the restaurant was to be found. These things weren’t painting the best picture of what may be in store. But we were hungry, we just arrived in town, and tonight it would have to do. We ordered a pound of king crab, snow crab, lobster, blue crab, shrimp, and crawfish. If this didn’t satiate the savages, nothing would. The waitress brought out our eating supplies, and we geared up.

Bibbs, gloves, crackers, buckets for the shells, plates, and lots of napkins were donned and positioned for the oncoming shells and melted butter. The food was good. I guess it’s hard to screw up a crab boil. The potatoes and corn were cooked well, and the chunks of sausage were a nice spicy note in the otherwise buttery and salty landscape. The kids had fun working through the giant tin pan in which they delivered the massive seafood order. Our family’s eating habits are different than most. I grew very accustomed to the family style of eating when we lived in Vietnam. A fact that we have come to mimic here in the states. When we go out to eat, I spend much of my spare time cooking for the family, we order our food and then request side plates. A buffet at every meal, I love that.

Chase the fading light

As dinner ended, we cleaned the damage from our fingers and faces, and headed outside to a still sun-kissed sky. A quick discussion yielded the convenience of everything. We were 5 minutes from both house and beach, so we headed home for a rapid wardrobe change. A short time later, we crossed the bridge of Lions onto Anastasia island and into St. Augustine beach. A typical Florida arrangement where a city’s closest beach is named the same with the word beach at the end. Though misleadingly a separate municipal entity. I had planned to stop by Alvin’s Island, a super surf shop. A place I remember being awe-inspired by as a youth stumbling around the streets of Panama City Beach practically unsupervised. It’s a store I remember the first time entering.

Probably one of my earliest trips to the beach. I specifically remember the tanks with sharks, the whole sharks in sea blue formaldehyde, the beach toys, blankets, clothes, and games. I remember it being a magical place. And one I had not visited in probably 30-plus years. The kids had commented a few hours prior how they forgot their snorkels and masks at home. Indeed, this quick side trip to an old surf shop, stuck in my mind’s eye for so long, would yield precisely what everyone wanted, hell, needed for the beach. And it did. It is the quintessential consumer palace of all things beach. They still had the sharks in formaldehyde.

Finally, the beach

It was a quick drive to public parking at the St. Augustine Beach Pier. As always, I couldn’t help but put everything into perspective. This was a big moment. And though it was probably lost on everyone else, Diem’s pragmatism is legendary, it wasn’t lost on me. As we stepped over the sea wall and peered into the sea, I thought that this was the first time Diem, Jennie, and Lisa had seen the Atlantic Ocean. Except perhaps, from 40,000 feet. That vicarious living, I love it. There were a few storms in the distance, but nothing severe. So we dropped our sandals on a rock by the seawall and waded into the water. The surf was intense and very active.

There was a moderate warning for strong currents and undertow, a fact that would linger much of the week. It may have been an understatement, as it was tiring just trying to stay still and on your feet. The girls frolicked in the water for some time in the dying light. The scene was an almost chromatic sight. The silvers and blues combined with the various greys of the scattered storms in the distance were filtered with the intense horizon sun as it took its days dying breaths. Finally, as the whipping wind began to chill the smallest of us, it was time to retreat beyond the storm breaks. The day had been long, and we had plenty of days ahead. The cooling air gave no reprieve for the hungry stomach, and calls for ice cream filled the car.

Mayday

As we left the beach and headed down the beachside avenue, we passed an ice cream spot that looked better than most. After a quick u-turn, we pulled into Mayday. An adorable boutique ice cream parlor making cones to order, unique flavors made in-house, and they even make their sprinkles. My kind of place. It was oreo for Jennie, Chocolate for Lisa, and a tiki trio for Maggie. The oreo was ice cream made primarily of oreo filling, sweet cream, and blended with the cookie, divine. The chocolate was no ordinary chocolate. Described on the menu as “a chocolate lover’s dream come true! Decadent chocolate ice cream packed with melted chocolates and notes of roasted cocoa.” Lisa didn’t leave so much as a drop of it behind. Maggie’s tiki trio was a tropical sherbert of mango, guava, and pineapple. Also delicious.

Diem ordered a two-scoop cone of the tiki trio and an incredibly refreshing strawberry mint. She was so taken aback when I handed her the behemoth ice cream, the first time I can recall us getting ice cream at an American style parlor, and she let out a gasp and an exhilarating expression. I caught it on camera. She was visibly impressed. I had to go for something interesting myself, and the seasonal blueberry, basil, and lemonade sorbet called my name. Fresh fruit, herbs, and citrus came to me. It seemed to call to me from the case ever so seductively. How can one resist the temptations of the siren’s call? Everyone had so much that, except for Lisa, I finished the rest. I ended up with a fruity bowl of tiki, strawberry mint, and blueberry basil. It was all delicious—all five pounds of it.

Day 2

By the time we stirred, the sun was high in the sky. The first to get moving, I strolled the neighborhood to look around while the four girls in the house did whatever they do. The community was majestic, if not royal. Having a precise combination of tropical diaspora blended with a ton of southern charm. The palm trees chilled among the Spanish moss-covered live oaks that seemed to form a canopy above—an urban rainforest of sorts. It is only broken up by the occasional need to clear-cut a powerline or other utilities. We were only a quarter of a mile from downtown in this neighborhood. A quarter of a mile from Flagler College, Casa Monica hotel, and the Plaza. Close enough to have been within the old city walls.

The sun was already beating down, so we still had to drive even at this proximity. The girls couldn’t take the heat pushing 90 by 10 am. Nor could I. We made the short jaunt to the entrance of St. George street, the second oldest street in America, and I paid the robot attendant to park. There was a beautiful British colonial-style home with signs for coffee, something Diem was requesting hard. The Vietnamese and their coffee. We stepped across the sidewalk and inside. We purchased Diem a latte, her go-to if a traditional Vietnamese Caphe Sua can’t be found. As we ordered, I discovered they didn’t have so much as a pastry to eat. So we clambered onto St. George street to check out America’s oldest permanent renaissance festival.

St. George Street

The second oldest street, the oldest is one street over, in arguably the oldest city neighborhood in the country. Its name lends credence to the mixed heritage of the city’s past. The city’s name is Spanish, while its second oldest street’s name is English. This fact may be more to do with the Spanish having no street naming system until the 1790s. When the King formally declared that all Spanish domestic and abroad cities would move to a standardized civic code. However, the street had already been named George street during the short 40-year British occupation a few decades prior. In the 1793 census of the Spanish Empire, the street was given its final name change when St. was added. A designation that the Americans chose to keep at the onset of the American territorial period beginning in 1821.

Today the street looks like a living renaissance festival. Complete with food purveyors and gift shops ranging from Panama hats to leather and saltwater taffy to tattoos. The architecture is a blend of Spanish and British colonial styles. And city code requires that all buildings built today may only reflect the Spanish renaissance revival style. This gives the city and the streets a unique and specifically aged feel. This sentiment about St. Augustine is older than you may think.

“The aspect of St. Augustine is qauint and strange, in harmony with its romantic history.”

“It is as if some little old Spanish Town, with its fort and gateway and Moorish bell towers, had broken loose, floated over here, and got stranded on a sandbank.”

-Harriet Beecher Stowe, 1873

We cut through an alley to the main pedestrian section of St. George Street. It was barely 20 yards down when we came to what appeared to be a very promising-looking brunch spot. I ducked in for a quick check, and there was no wait. We would only need to wait while the table was reset. We piled in and took our seats at the table the hostess offered.

The Roosevelt Room at Prohibition Kitchen

A modern restaurant in an antiquated industrial space. My favorite setting for a restaurant. The first great restaurant I worked at in my career, Food Studio, was in such an industrial studio space. I have a special place in my heart for such settings. The centuries-old brick walls, massive industrial-aged sliding doors, and giant glass facade gave it a mid-19th century feel. A time period I would soon discover, captured the entire city, the tremendous Gilded age of American history. Our server was solid. Being a restaurant professional for almost three decades, I find that if I sit down with a good server, both our experiences will be great.

We ordered cheese grits and bacon egg banh mi for Jennie and Lisa. Maggie jumped on the PB&J waffles. Diem had a white sangria and tuna Banh Mi, and I ordered a red Sangria and asked the server for his favorite. The food arrived, and my plate looked delicious. A massive buttermilk biscuit, fried chicken, bacon jam, a local egg over medium, sharp cheddar, and gator sausage gravy. Everyone devoured their breakfast, and the entire atmosphere, from food to fellow customers, was an enjoyable experience. Even the bar was packed for much of the time we were there. Something I love to see in places I dine. A busy restaurant is usually a well-run restaurant.

Culture of commerce

We left the Roosevelt Room and headed further into the web of consumerism, that is, any place like this in the world. Interestingly, you can boil down cities like this worldwide into fundamental and universal realities. Whether it’s the night markets of Hoi An or the tight streets of St. Augustine, everyone tries to capitalize on their local history no matter how inaccurate, and everyone is trying to separate you from your money. We entered a few shops to say we did. I dropped about $100 on a few pieces of taffy and decided to make way for the beach before we were broke. On the way to the car, it began to rain. We ducked under a 200-year-old balcony and laughed as the brief shower dissipated as fast as it had begun.

Shortly after a pitstop at home to change clothes and gather our beach supplies, we pulled into the entrance to Anastasia park. I paid the eight-dollar-per-vehicle fee, and we were in. Anastasia park incorporates the northern part of Anastasia island. The island that makes up the municipal city of St. Augustine beach. Part of the Florida state park system, the park maintains four miles of pristine beaches, bicycle trails, campsites, and several square miles of unadulterated wildlife habitats. The park has diverse ecosystems ranging from the salt marsh on the coastal side to the open ocean on the seaside.

Anastasia park and beach

We passed the ranger station and onto the main park road. Just past the entrance on the right stood the old Coquina quarries from the mid-Spanish period. A type of local rock that I was unaware of the full significance of as we passed the sign for the old quarry historic site. A small grill and visitor snack shop sat at the end of the road. Having a very protected ecosystem caused beach access to be a rather impressive series of walkways. Sun-baked wooden structures stretched over the dunes and beyond the horizon. I loaded as much as possible on my back, and we began the long pilgrimage over the dunes. By now, it was well into the afternoon, and the sun was beating down with heavy intensity.

The protected dunes and the surrounding habitat are beautiful sites. However, I realize now that the importance of the dunes to coastal regions, particularly in the southeastern United States, is not a concept shared by all. It’s not common to see tourist beaches outside the U.S. with clear measures to protect at-risk flora and fauna or the shores from erosion. I remember the annual struggle in Southeast Asia to prevent the beaches from eroding entirely away. Volunteers could often be seen at My Khe beach in Da Nang, setting up sandbags to protect the delicate beaches during severe weather. Here mother nature is supported in her natural abilities to do the same.

An afternoon swim

I unpacked as fast as possible, threw the beach tent up, laid out blankets, and helped the kids get situated. This particular stretch of the beach just north of the pier was pristine. The side currents had established a rather large and mostly flat sandbar about 25 yards wide and just inches below the water beyond a dip about waist deep. Unfortunately, the ocean was just as angry as it had been yesterday. Beyond the massive sandbar that stood just below the water level, the surf was swift and violent. But here, just where the sand meets the waves, it was calm and formed a natural kiddie pool, if ever there was one. Diem and Jennie mainly stayed in the tranquil area just offshore. While Lisa, Maggie, and occasionally I tackled the more aggressive waves beyond the sandbar.

The sand had an abrasive quality to it. As the bruising waves batter the shoreline, it pulverized the small shells leftover from the large biomass of shellfish, mostly bivalves that live here in abundance. This geologic and natural event caused the sand here to be coarse and full of tiny shell fragments. It is not uncommon to find them more significant than a pea and regularly larger still. It was as if the sea here was a giant mill churning out the makings of industrial materials in the massive pulverizing waves. We lounged much of the day in the cool water or the tent. A nap here and there. A cooling off in the shallows. It was an afternoon that moved at its own pace.

Time for something delicious

Eventually, the snacks and drinks we had brought were no longer completing their task. Depleted, we began to pack up for the long hike back to the car. I had purchased a stroller for Jennie for the trip and put it to full use to haul back what was left. I paused halfway down the wooden walkway to take in the beauty of the dune habitat that filled the ample space between the shore and the road. It was a short ride back to the house. It was time to freshen up and have a quick nap. Everyone seemed sluggish as it was almost eight before we walked down the street to the restaurant. It was rated as one of St. Augustine’s best. It would prove to be that and more, and less than 100 yards from our front door. Bring on the cocktails.

Ice Plant

Nestled in an old ice plant, I know, seems obvious. The restaurant again had the American Industrial feel I love so much. Adjacent to the St. Augustine distillery, a distillery that today serves up an array of vodka, rums and whiskeys. But was initially operated as a water distillery to provide clean water to the new hotels that sprang up here in the late 19th century. Additionally, the building served as the city’s first power authority. As well as provided ice to the flourishing hotel business in the town at that time. I felt as if I was putting the cart before the horse. I had passed by the Coquina quarry, of its stone structures I still have not seen, and now I was sitting in an incredibly historical building, having not yet observed the marvels of hotel engineering they once supported.

We have only brushed on this city’s history. Tomorrow I will focus my efforts. But it was time to eat, and the menu looked promising. The entrance to the old ice plant had been kept mostly intact. Against the wall across from the entrance sits a skillfully crafted host stand and wine and beverage rack. There was no wait as we approached the hostess, and she quickly escorted us up an enormous concrete and steel stairway. The bar was positioned in the center of the massive industrial space. The entire area was divided at the bar between the front and back of the house. The hostess seated us in a spacious half booth, and we began to look over the menu.

Drinks

Ice Plant, in true homage to the period setting, made their own sodas, and thus, entirely homemade Shirley Temples. Which the girls slurped up with a thirsty eagerness. We discussed the drink menu. I’m still trying to adapt Diem’s Vietnamese drinking preferences into available American choices. It was so far a mixed bag of successes and failures. Although, based on the very general conversation with our server, sweet, not dry, tropical, and stone fruit flavors are positive. The competent server guided us to a cocktail with a somewhat predictable name: the Lana Del Rey or Jessie Lane. I was feeling nostalgic and ordered an old favorite of mine—a rusty nail. I must have the habits of a former era, as the server needed to check with the bartender to see if it was possible.

For those not familiar, the rusty nail is a Scottsman’s cocktail. Consisting of essentially three parts scotch and 1 part Drambuie. Drambuie is a liqueur made from, you guessed it, more scotch blended with heather honey and a proprietary blend of herbs and spices. Smoky, somewhat sweet, with a depth of flavor, it’s a profoundly contemplative drink. Great with a book or a table full of food. The food of which I was about to do a lot of contemplating. A nice touch to the handcrafted drinks was unique garnishes such as preserved lemon.

The Food

We ordered far more than was necessary, in typical form, and asked for our standard share plates for the coming feast. Always trying to fill every request, vessels began to arrive piled with grilled shrimp, hand-cut fries, and a massive Angus burger with Munster, aioli, and pickled green tomatoes. More gourmet offerings included local lemon cured shrimp, fried artichokes, olive tapenade with garlic crostinis, and a light and beautiful Watermelon Tomato salad with barrel-aged feta, fresh jalapeno, fresh cucumber, peppery arugula, sunflower seeds, baby mint, basil, and a lemon vinaigrette. But I think the crowd favorite was probably the crispy beef short ribs. Sesame-soy glaze, jasmine rice, grilled peach, Thai herb salad, and umami peanut dressing and red curry oil. Though not clearly defined, the Asian components were unmistakable.

Sesame and Jasmine from South Asia, soy from east Asia, and Thai herbs and red curry oil from Southeast Asia. The peaches are probably a misunderstood component to an otherwise homogenous plate. Although Georgia is the peach state in the U.S., it wasn’t until the 16th century that peaches made their way to the new world. The peach in the ancient world was often referred to as the Persian Apple. Most peaches originated from that region. However, more recent genetic discoveries show that the peach was likely first cultivated further east in western China. Either way, the peach is as Asian as rice. The peanut dressing, as Asian as it may seem on modern menus, is a crop of the Amazon first cultivated in South America. It made its way to Asia via Spanish trade routes in the 17th century.

Winding down

The salad was refreshing, the shrimp had wonderful citrus and earthy acidity offered from the artichokes and salty olives, and it was all excellent. After devouring much on the table, the discussion of dessert came up. The server rattled off the options, and though no one could have possibly had room for more, we ordered a chocolate chili molten cake. Made from the famous datil chili pepper that only grows in St. Augustine, the cake was more classic bittersweet chocolate with a hint of spice on the end. A vanilla ice cream cut the kick and was a very well-executed dessert. Having had a full day and currently full bellies, we settled our tab and stumbled out into the city.

St. Augustine in the moonlight

It was probably around 10 in the evening when we found our way to the main strip. The sky was clear, and the temperature was far more manageable than at any time since we arrived, so we began to walk to the central Plaza. We passed the Solla-Carcaba cigar factory built in 1909 to provide cigars to the bustling hotel business nearby. It was a block from the ice plant, and I was beginning to get a clearer picture of the scale and scope of St. Augustine in the post-civil war years. With this being a new factory for the already expansive business at its opening, St. Augustine must have been the place to be at the dawn of the 20th century.

We strolled by the First United Methodist Church, whose mission was founded in 1825 by Reverand Daniel McDaniel. However, the current building was completed in 1911. We strolled beyond the windows of closed shops and buildings with strange and unique architecture. Passed Flagler College, The Lightner Museum, Casa Monica hotel, and countless churches and historical buildings. We spent much of the pre-midnight hour taking in the beautiful old town plaza of St. Augustine’s historic architecture. It was the first time I could test some of the night features of the iPhone 13’s new camera assembly. You can see some of the shots below.

Day 3

The early years of the settlement

Like so many other tells of the new world, St. Augustine’s early years were fraught with war, disease, and chaos. In its first century and a half of habitation, the young settlement would be burned to the ground entirely once, partially another time, and become the target of deadly pirate raids. Some of its attackers were of noticeable stock. Between 1586 and 1740, the city would be attacked by English officer and privateer Sir Frances Drake, the deadly pirate Robert Searles, Carolina governor James Moore, and Georgia founder and General James Oglethorpe. In the city’s almost 400 years of existence, it has changed hands many times. Spanish, British, Spanish again, American, Confederate, and finally, American.

In the early years of the fledgling town, it was clear that a more permanent defense structure was needed. The regular attacks by the British, French, and Pirates that also laid claim to nearby areas, had become unsurmountable. With constant skirmishes and threats to the vital colony, it was the last stop before the massive Spanish treasure ships overflowing with gold and silver reached European ports, were ever-increasing the need for a more suitable defense battery. In 1695, after over 20 years of construction, the Castillio de San Marcos was complete. For over 300 years, the fort would serve to protect, at first treasure ships, and eventually American maritime interests. Until 1900, when the United States Army abandoned the defenses to the elements.

A quick breakfast

I had procured tickets on the downtown trolly for a day of historical, and exhaustingly boring for the girls, fun in the city’s old quarters. The Castillo was one of the first stops up from our rental house. There was a trolly stop a block and half away from our said rental. It was the perfect staging point for exploring the historic environs. The trolly stop was in the parking lot of the old distillery and ice plant, where we enjoyed a wonderful dinner the previous evening. The sun was already high in the Florida sky when we loaded on the open-air trolly to head to the city center. We had planned to get donuts at a gourmet donut house two stops up. But were highly disappointed to discover the stop was closed for repaving. We trudged a quarter mile to the next stop at the old city’s center.

We clambered, hungry and still groggy, from the trolly to a small restaurant on St. George Street. The second oldest street in the nation. The oldest is Aviles, a block away. Ancient City Brunch Bar was a quaint little spot in what must have been a historical building. Offering simple yet well-prepared brunch fare. They had coffee, bottled water, and mimosas on tap; everything was served on a board. We ordered a few breakfast sandwiches and a yogurt parfait. Which were, as advertised, served artfully on a curved wooden cutting board. We hurriedly finished our light breakfast and headed back to the trolly.

The Plaza

The restaurant was just on the edge of the St. Augustine plaza. What we would refer to as a town square. Lined with historic buildings such as the Governor’s house, Trinity Church, the Casa Monica hotel, and the Cathedral Basilica. The two oldest streets in the U.S are on its flanks, St. George, and Aviles. At its head facing east, as if to give a nod back to the old world, stands Ponce De Leon himself. Standing guard over the mouth of the Matanza River and the Bridge of Lions that crosses to Anastasia Island and the beaches beyond. The trolly, lumbering slowly along, wrapped around the square. We made our way to the northern expanse of the old city walls and the formidable fort still ceremonially standing guard over the city. We had arrived at the Castillo De San Marcos.

The Castillo De San Marcos

It must have been a thousand degrees when soaked and already dehydrated at 10 am, we limped up to the booth and purchased our entrance tickets. It was a reasonable $30. $15 each for adults, 15 and under free. My kind of monument. Did I mention it’s a national monument? The massive coquina structure, more on that later, has many trivial facts about it that would excite any nerd. Myself included. The oldest masonry fort in America, the oldest building in St. Augustine, a national monument, is well over 300 years old. Astonishing facts that were both intriguing and unknown. I had not heard of the Castillo, at least not in any memorable since, until I arrived here in St. Augustine yesterday.

The Fort

The first thing I noticed as I walked up the ramp and across the drawbridge to the Ravelin, a structure built to protect the main entrance, was the particularly ancient feel of the masonry work. It had a weathered effect that made the structure appear older, at least from the block face, than other structures I’ve seen that are known to be older. I’ve visited Champa ruins in Southeast Asia that are a thousand years old and that were not as eroded and seemingly deteriorated as the individual blocks here. It had a strange lateral erosion to it that just seemed odd. But I would later learn that that had more to do with the material than the weather. Across the Ravelin, we passed over the main drawbridge above the dry moat and into the belly of the fort.

By now, the heat of the late July sun was already too much to bear in the solid stone structure. So everyone but Lisa and I stayed behind in the cooler recesses of the structure’s museum and air-conditioned gift shops. Offering rare glimpses into the life and times of the Castillo in its 200-year service as a military fort. Its displays of living quarters, hospitals, and safe haven for town inhabitants in times of attack were interesting, if not a grim reminder of what it meant to be human in those days. I reflect that I might rather die than undergo a 16th-century amputation. The apparatus of medicine in former times is often more than the most ardent horror films enthusiast might want to endure. And so, In the blistering midmorning heat, Lisa and I toured the courtyard before us and the massive cannon batteries on the terreplein above.

main structure

The central courtyard is a square and is the heart of the fortification. On the courtyard’s perimeter and making up the interior of the massive 12 to 19-foot thick walls are storehouses, barracks, and hospitals. In the southeast corner sits a massive stone staircase with a 90-degree turn halfway up. Lisa and I climbed the stairs and came into a stunning view. The Castillo sat, as any good fortifications should, in such an orientation as to provide a line of sight and defense across the city and mouth of the Matanza river. One could easily see from the beautiful hotels downtown to probably several miles into the open ocean. The view gave a real understanding of why a well-armed fort like this would remain uncaptured in its complete history.

Since the fort was completed in 1695, St. Augustine has never been taken by force, only by treaty. A testament, no doubt, to the defensive abilities of the massive fort tucked very conspicuously in the city’s northern edge. A more impressive sight even than the view was the numerous preserved cannons that dotted the fortification. Many still bear the factory stamps and i.d. plates. Three types of cannons could be found here. 18th-century garrison, 18th-century mortar, and early 19th-century seacoast cannons. Some were built specifically for Castillo de San Marcos, others from the period but found in the region. Below are some of the cannons we explored.

The cannons of Castillo de San Marcos

Coquina

It didn’t take much time to explore the exhibits before the unique stone edifice’s origins came into focus. The stone masonry structure was built with a unique rock called coquina. A geological anomaly, the limestone formation sits in deposits just below the surface in particular habitats. As the mechanical processess we witnessed at the beach yesterday continues for thousands of years, the collection of pulverized shells of the coquina clam, or perwhiwinkle, pack in layers. These layers eventually form a geological deposit several feet thick. In a fascinating event, the deposit became exposed in the last ice age and was eventually covered with soil and vegetation. Over the centuries, the building up of dead matter and soil would filter water down to the coquina layer.

The acids formed in this filtration process, primarily carbonic acid, slowly dissolved the calcium in the shell fragments. This sludge-like substance, now known as calcium carbonate, oozed into all the cracks and holes in the packed shell layer. This glue would remain geologically soft as it sat many feet below the surface. The Spanish discovered that the blocks they cut from the coquina quarry over on Anastasia island were soft. But if they cured them in the sun for several years, the blocks would harden into a solid building material. Given the lack of building materials in the Florida region, it was a gamble the Spanish took. One of the reasons the structure took over 20 years to construct.

A coquina fortress

When the Spanish made the decision to use coquina from the local quarry, it had never been used for fortifications. An untested and relatively unknown stone, at least to Europeans. They additionally developed a technique of burning oyster shells to make lime and mixing it with sand and water to make a very effective mortar. It would only be a question of when the fortification would be tested. In 1702, then governor of Carolina, James Moore, led an expedition in the name of Anne, Queen of England, Scotland, and Ireland, to overtake the city of St. Augustine. A colonial extension of the war of the Spanish succession raging in Europe.

Moore quickly overtook the city and set up cannon batteries around the city to bombard the Castillo, where the townspeople had sought refuge. For 51 days, Moore’s forces battered the massive fortification. The coquina stone used to make the massive structure had an unexpected elastic quality. Absorbing the large pulses of energy brought on by the blunt force trauma of a cannonball. They simply hit the wall with a thud and rolled off. Some cannonballs were even being absorbed in the wall itself. In frustration, Moore fled back to Carolina, burning the town to the ground in his wake. Due to Moore’s careless actions, no structures outside the Castillo are older than 1702.

A little St. Augustine Architecture

One thing I discovered about coquina is that it reflects a lot of heat. After a relatively quick run around the fort, it was time to return to the confines of the wind-kissed trolly. Lisa and I found the rest of the crew hanging out in one of the shaded recesses near the gift shop, and we headed for the stop. The trolly arrived quickly, and we were off to tour the city’s beautiful architecture: the old city gates, some early 18th-century homes, and several churches. We stopped by the old jail from the 19th century which was an interesting place. It was a very touristy stretch of San Marco avenue containing the old jail, oldest store museum, St. Augustine history museum, Ponce de Leon’s fountain of youth, and the original Ripley’s, believe it or not, museum.

Ripley’s

This part of the city was a little strange. The museums were interesting enough, but the fountain of youth looked more like a tourist trap, and Ripley’s Museum gave the stretch a very cheap feel. At least, that was my first impression. Ripley’s museum is housed in a large Moorish revival-style mansion built in 1887. Originally the winter home of William Warden, a successful business partner of John D. Rockefeller and Henry Flagler, the Warden castle is one of the city’s most visually unique private homes. Now the property houses countless exhibits and art pieces ranging from a 15-foot replica of Michelangelo’s David to a life-sized horse made of vintage chrome bumpers commissioned for the 1987 Denver Broncos.

The old jail

The old jail and oldest store museum were interesting enough. The oldest store was a replica general store from the post-civil war era, and the jail was from the turn of the 20th century. The jail came with a costumed inmate that told yarns about the Sheriff from the early days of the jail and what life was like for the jail’s inhabitants. The most interesting thing from the experience was the manufacturer plates on the massive lock assemblies. Built by the Pauly Brothers, the lever and lock mechanisms for the jail were state-of-the-art. Manufactured in St. Louis, the test runs for the locks in this jail set up the Pauly brothers to win the bid for a new prison in San Francisco bay. Alcatraz would receive its first inmates in 1934.

We spent several hours winding around the old capital of Spanish Florida. Tomorrow is my museum day, you have to have one on every vacation, so I knew I would return to this part of the city soon enough. It was well into the afternoon when the cries to return home became noticeable. We labored our way back to the trolly stop near the house and ducked in to freshen up from the day’s oppressive heat. Diem was in the mood for something Southeast Asian, and we found a well-reviewed Thai spot nearby.

Green Papaya

Tucked away in a nondescript strip mall sat what was said to be St. Augustine’s best on the Thai scene, Green Papaya. It was a standard American Thai restaurant. Do you know how you can tell? If the meat is served off the bone in curry and duck dishes, you can be assured the menu has been moderately adjusted for the American palate. Sweeter noodle dishes like Pad Thai and Pad see ew. Toned-down versions of stir-fries and rice dishes. We ordered duck with yellow curry, shrimp fried rice, a standard pad Thai, a few rolls of sushi, and sticky rice with mango.

Reflections on dinner

In a rather reasonable time, the dishes began to hit the table. Very well presented except for a few plate whipping issues. I’ve worked with colored sticky rice before, it’s murder on plate rims. I reflected for a short time on the things adjusted in Asian cuisine for the American audience and what havoc it reeks on the American diet. The most obvious of these is the butchering of the meat. Except for fried rice and noodle dishes, meat is almost exclusively served on the bone. And in some fried rice dishes, particularly in eastern parts of Southeast Asia like Cambodia and Vietnam, the meat is often served grilled on top of the fried rice. It often requires dexterity of the tongue and chopsticks to clean the delicious bits off the chunks of bone. A mantra of if you aren’t working for it, it’s not worth eating.

Even in the fish category of dishes, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a fish filet served in an Asian restaurant abroad. In the U.S., of course. But I can assure you that if you order a piece of fish in a restaurant in the countryside of Thailand, it will have part of the carcass attached. This extra work at the table does seem to have a slowing-down effect when dining. If we ate out in Vietnam, it would take three times as long to eat as a typical dinner in the states. Breakfast was even a rather stretched-out event. I think these peculiar eating habits may help populations in these areas keep overeating down and contribute to a more balanced diet. How many lunches do you rush through to punch that clock on time?

The thousand flavors of cheesecake

After dinner, we headed home, and Diem and the girls were ready for a nap. It’s difficult when those accustomed to daily naps are forced to push through them. The siesta is alive and well in Southeast Asia, it has been a bit of a struggle overcoming that here in the states. The entire world shuts down at around eleven in the morning to reopen around two. Everyone across the land can be found having lunch and a nap in the mid-day heat. As the girls slumbered, Maggie and I headed back to the old quarter to purchase a few cheesecakes from a boutique shop we saw earlier on our tour of the city.

Bar Harbor cheesecake shop offered a dining option inside the old colonial house. However, take-away had to go to the back door to order and procure. A very nice gentleman at the front pointed us in the right direction. I guess it must be a carry-over from the pandemic, but it seemed rather odd to trudge around the back to buy a few cheesecakes. They offered a dizzying variety, all personal-sized. Strawberry, chocolate, oreo, white chocolate raspberry, Georgia peach, coconut, and even some savory options like Beef brisket and Moroccan chicken. It took quite a few minutes to order.

Sunset and an early night

We took a long way home as Maggie, and I collected our cheesecakes. Crossing the old city to the Bridge of Lions, we hopped on the A1A over the Mantanzas river and down onto Anastasia Island. We headed south towards St. Augustine beach, then turned west on 312 to cross the river again on the large 312 bridge. It wasn’t a low bridge that had to be lifted for ship passage as the Bridge of Lions. The bridge was about a mile long and lifted high above the river and salt marshes below. The sun was just beginning to set as we crossed the bridge, whose height offers a spectacular view of the city, marshes, sunset traveling west, and the sunrise and open sea traveling east. With the sun setting, it was time for us, too, to tuck in for the night.

Day 4

It was early again when I rolled out of bed and performed my morning routine. Though I am, in general life, spontaneous at best and extemporaneous at worst, I do have my rituals. In my middle-aged days, I’ve found that I enjoy retiring early, rising early, and wearing cozy cardigans with button-up shirts. I’ve traded the late restaurant nights and after-work drinks at the nearby bar for an early dinner with the family at the dinner table and sweet tea with lunch at the local bar that masquerades as a charming lunch spot by day. Oh dear lord, I’m turning into a grandfather. So knowing the girls wouldn’t be stirring for some time, Diem and I headed across Lion bridge to Anastasia Island.

Aimez-Vous le café

I had heard the tale of a quaint little French bakery tucked in on the edges of St. Augustine beach. In the shadow of the lighthouse, in an even more nondescript and like a good French wine, well-aged, sits Les Petits Pleasures. A bustling little French bakery run by a husband and wife combo. The wife was running around in the back baking, plating, and bringing out newly finished items for the display cases. It’s hard to say what the space’s style was, mildly industrial with a lot of glass display space. A beautiful chandelier seemed slightly out of place as it hung above the POS system. In true French style, the far wall of the shop held a decent display of French countryside wines: Bourdeaux’s and Burgundy’s, Languedoc’s, and champagne.

Monsieur commerçant was a hefty Frenchman with a booming voice. His thick French accent reminded me of the famous French actor Jean Reno. He hurriedly ran around in intentional movements making espressos, plating quiche, and processing payments—the talented couple were tearing through a line of customers that never seemed to end. We ordered a couple of coffees and a quiche and retired to a corner table so I could watch the show play out before me. I often enjoy sitting back and watching a great restaurant crushing a busy meal period—the orchestra in its movements and sounds. I find solace in observing such things. And occasionally, though never enough to act on it, I miss being at the helm of a wild pirate ship that is the professional kitchen.

The Museum run

It was still early when we arrived home to discover that Maggie and the girls had not so much as rustled in their beds. Diem, too, seemed ready to rest her eyes after several days of being on the move. I took this as a sign from the gods. Hey honey, remember all those cool museums we passed by yesterday? What’s that? You don’t want to go? We’ve been so busy. Why would you? Can I go? It was easy convincing. Diem has, on many occasions, graciously entertained my museum cravings all over the world. At least this time, she could stay home. With a collection of tours and museums within a five-minute walk, it was a museum density I hadn’t seen since D.C. I grabbed my hat to stave off the summer sun, said farewells, and made my way for the Plaza.

Feeling like a teenager cut loose at spring break with a pocket of cash for tickets, tour fees, and possibly a snack, I stepped into the building heat of the warm summer day. I took the backstreets from the house to the Plaza to see if any hidden gems might be hiding in the city neighborhood. A banana flower, though not fruiting, next to a Spanish-style courtyard entrance immediately caught my eye. Flagler Memorial Presbyterian church towered over much of the skyline from the neighborhood. It was stunning and, in some ways, felt ancient. Just short of the Plaza, I came across what must have been an old hotel district with several Inns and Bed and Breakfasts dating back to the 1890s, all still operational. Just past the Inn’s, I came to the back side of The Alcazar Hotel and my first stop.

The Final Frontier

As far as the eastern seaboard is concerned, Florida is a newcomer. By the end of the nineteenth century, it was the only state east of the Rockies that could be legally classified, in whole or in part, as a frontier state. For much of its Spanish rule, most of the peninsula was considered worthless and uninhabitable. Its only real redeeming feature was that St. Augustine sat where the gulf stream made a sharp turn east and headed across open water to Europe. The end of the frontier was declared in the west in 1890. Yet Florida still lay unsettled and remote for most of the peninsula. In the 1900 census, 55 years after statehood, Florida had the lowest population in the southeast. With most of its 529,000 inhabitants living within 50 miles of the Georgia border.

It was in this backwater state that Henry Flagler, co-founder of Standard Oil and business partner to John D. Rockefeller, discovered a paradise waiting to be exploited. On a visit with his wife in the late 1870s to escape the frigid New York winter, Flagler experienced the warm sunny Florida days for the first time. On a visit to St. Augustine, a city he immediately fell in love with, Flagler noticed the laborious manner one had to undergo to reach this little peace of American paradise. Jacksonville was the furthest south one could get by rail in 1880. To reach St. Augustine from Jacksonville required steamboats and multiple short rail lines. So, Flager did what any titan of his time would do. He bought up all the railroads in Northeast Florida and built an opulent train to paradise.

His Hotels

Noting that accommodations were also paltry at best, Flagler began construction on the greatest hotels the world had ever seen. The flagship of his Florida vacation empire would open in January of 1888, his second would open across the street later that year. Flagler would push the train ever south founding cities and hotels along the way. By Flagler’s death in 1913 at the age of 83, he had connected the small hamlet of Daytona beach and New Smyrna, and helped to found Cocoa beach, West Palm Beach, Miami, and had even connected Key West by rail to the rest of his railroad empire. By the time Flagler was laid to rest, you could take a continuous train in luxury from New York to Key West. At that time the largest city in Florida. All along the route, his hotels serviced the fledgling Florida tourist economy.

The Last Train to Paradise

As I typically do when we visit a new place, I looked for a book or two on the history of St. Augustine. There wasn’t much to choose from, but I found a rather obscure book named “The Last Train to Paradise” by Les Standiford. A fascinating book for those history lovers out there. Flagler, in his unwavering resolve and prophetic forethought, declared at the close of the 19th century, “I will ride into Key West on my own iron.” A promise he would live to keep. The railroad would push on through massive hurricanes and countless impossible engineering feats. Completed in 1912, the railroad would be washed away by The Great Labor Day Hurricane of 1935. But the railroad bed, built with many industrial innovations, would live on to serve as the road bed for the first overseas highway to Key West.

Henry Flagler was long dead when the railroad made its last run on that tragic Labor day night. When the call came in from Key West that an evacuation was needed, the train was caught up in red tape after a depression-era bankruptcy. It was the only way into Key West not by boat, and the train left Homestead for the Key West station hours after the telegraph came in to send a train to evacuate the city. The storm, officially known as Hurricane Three, is the strongest Atlantic Hurricane to make landfall by barometric pressure. None of the equipment used to take meteorological measurements survived the storm, but the last recorded wind speed before landfall was 185 mph.

A dying dream

The relief train was laboriously churning down the track in the ever-growing storm in the early evening of Labor Day, Monday, September 2, 1935. As it reached Upper Matecumbe Key, the train and surrounding landscape took a direct hit from a massive tsunami. The tracks and cars were destroyed, but the mighty steel and iron engine stood firm. Though countless died in the tsunami, the engineer and his crew survived the harrowing experience. Even the mightiest of storms couldn’t topple the massive engine. Though the engine survived the hurricane, hundreds died clinging to trees, skeletons of buildings, and tracks awaiting a train that would never come. It would, to this day, be the last train to ride the rails between the mainland and Key West. The death of a dead man’s dream, to tame an untameable expanse of desolation and sea.

The Alcazar Hotel

I had arrived in the courtyard of Flagler’s second Hotel in St. Augustine and the modern Gilded era museum. The Alcazar Hotel opened on Christmas Day in 1889. Built by what was at the time the revolutionary technique of poured concrete. Poured concrete came of age in St. Augustine. Many of the city’s famous buildings were built using the fledgling technique. In the late 1800s, the concrete needed to be poured in stages. A frame, usually of wood or iron, was built a few feet high and several feet thick. Concrete was poured and allowed to cure. Once ready to support a section above, another frame was constructed, and the next layer was poured in. This gives the buildings a clean block style, making them look like polished castles. It is striking.

The buildings look new and modern, yet as if they could have been simultaneously built during the Renaissance. It is one of the more unique architectural styles I’ve seen anywhere in the world. When the Alcazar opened, it was the crowning achievement of not only Henry Flagler but of the Gilded age—designed for Flagler by old acquaintances from New York, the architectural firm of Carrère, and Hastings. Like other buildings for Flagler, the firm modeled the hotel in the Spanish Renaissance Revival style. Complete with pool, baths, and all the latest luxuries of the age.

The Lightner Museum

On the north end of the Alcazar sits a garden and park. Complete with a statue of St. Augustine’s founder Pedro Menendez de Aviles. The courtyard’s entrance is past his statue and between the hotel’s two bell towers. The hotel would shut its doors within 20 years of Flagler’s death. The consumption that was the great depression would see the building languish in disrepair for over a decade. When in 1946, Chicago businessman and publisher of Hobbies magazine Otto Lightner purchased the Hotel to convert it into a museum. A shrewd businessman, Lightner turned the great depression into an opportunity to purchase vast troves of artifacts, artwork, and antique pieces from desperate victims of the economic collapse at rock bottom prices.

Lightner would aggressively collect what were surely expensive pieces at the time that have since matured into priceless artifacts today. The windows of the Alcazar alone are insured for over 100 million dollars. Crafted, assembled, and installed by a young glassmaker from New York in the late 1800s known as Louis Comfort Tiffany. He, of course, founded one of the greatest luxury brands the world has ever seen, Tiffany Co. The museum is said to set the mark for what it is to be of the gilded age—containing one of the most extensive collections from arguably America’s greatest era. I had come to St. Augustine in part to see the Lightner Museum’s fabled exhibits.

The Gilded Age

The years comprising the gilded age are heavily contested. In its broadest sense, it would comprise the close of the civil war to the outbreak of World War I. In its narrowest definition, the end of reconstruction in 1875 to the ascension of Theodore Roosevelt in 1901. Either way, the age would be one of America’s most dynamic periods. To give you an idea of the growth rate of the times, between 1865 and 1888, production of wheat, corn, coal, and rail track laid would increase by 256%, 222%, 800%, and 567%, respectively. The U.S. would also overtake the economies of England, France, and Germany combined in GDP by the end of the century. Between 1870 and 1900, American wages grew by a staggering 53%. Outcompeting wages from across Europe in some cases by a factor of three.

It is hard to imagine the economic growth and prosperity experienced at the time. The economic boom would fuel the great migrations of the Irish, Norwegians, and Italians. It would also press America’s boundaries to the corners of the continent. It was an explosion of finance, industry, and prosperity never seen again in such intense ferocity. In this environment of economic expansion rose the opulent lifestyles of what were some of the wealthiest humans ever to live. The unimaginable wealth of Americans like J.P Morgan, John D. Rockefeller, Andrew Carnegie, Cornelious Vanderbilt, and of course, our St. Augustine’s adopted patron Henry Flagler. At John D. Rockefeller’s peak, his personal wealth made up over 3% of the entire U.S. GDP. A truly astronomical figure.

The birth of American culture

However, this period also saw the solidification of the American middle class. And with the dawn of the greatest middle class spawned the phenomenon social psychologists refer to as Mass Culture. People could share tastes and common experiences from coast to coast for the first time on a scale never before seen. The developments in the Gilded age, what many refer to as an age of transformative technological advances, spawned a dizzying array of products, goods, and services consumed on a level never before seen in history. Many household names ubiquitous in modern American culture can be traced back to the era. Maxwell House, Heinz, Post cereal (now General Mills), Hershey, Pillsbury, Coca-Cola, Aunt Jemima, McCormick spices, Knox seasonings and gelatin products, Lipton Tea, Del Monte, Juicy Fruit gum, Campbell’s soup, Tootsie roll, Nabisco and Jell-o are just a taste of products and company’s founded in the age.

It wasn’t just the food we eat, household luxuries too began to take on an achievable and familiar form. In the lead-up to 1900, some of America’s most iconic cultural elements appeared on the scene. Motion pictures, the phonograph, and by extension canned music, the first streets and homes were lit with electricity, the first mechanized amusement parks, the automobile, baseball cards, and even college football all became household phrases and experiences in the Gilded age. In many ways, it is the earliest time in American history one can peer into and have difficulty distinguishing it from modern times. So many elements would seem so familiar as to feel as American as anything might today.

Even the cowboy

Additionally, contrary to what we may have been taught, the cowboy, that iconic symbol of Americana for much of the 20th century, was itself the product of industrialization. Not the dying breath of a former era or the wild contentions of restless men like we may have imagined. With the mighty railroads chugging across the open plains, the cowboy was a tool in bringing cattle from the pastures of the new state of Texas to the rest of America. A Texas rancher could get $4 a cow locally in 1885. But get that same cow to the railroad in Kansas, and from there to the meat processors of Chicago, and onto the rest of America, and that cow would fetch $40. The cowboy was the tool used to connect the cattle of Texas with the rest of Industrialized America.

Making an entrance

It was during this time of the uber-wealthy and a common American culture that St. Augustine was transformed into a gilded city. I was walking into a museum that would hopefully peel the curtain back on just what this age was all about. The Hotel represents opulence and luxury on a scale not seen before or since. The beautiful gardens in front of the Museum grounds sit at the property’s northern end. The majestic towered concrete building overlooks what may arguably be America’s most beautiful city block. The Plaza, British Governor’s house, and Casa Monica hotel to the East. The former Ponce De Leon Hotel’s majestic Flagler college occupies the northern edge. The Lightner Museum and former Alcazar Hotel are to the south, with the first poured concrete structure in St. Augustine, the Villa Zorayda, sits to the west.

I stood in awe as I peered through the courtyard’s colonnade into the heart of the old Hotel. The entrance to the museum is across the courtyard, which has a beautiful stone bridge over a koi pond. The bridge crosses the courtyard from left to right, so one must walk the courtyard perimeter to reach the entrance. The courtyard is lined with an arcade filled with shops and offices. No doubt, hotel patrons would purchase goods, a snack, or book services on the arcade. It set a romantic scene that must have been quite glamorous in the 1890s. I made my way to the entrance and opened the door.

The lobby and front desk

Immediately beyond the door lies a gorgeous lobby of ornately molded walls and rafters bordering the recesses of the ceiling. Crystal chandeliers hung from the center of each recess section, lighting beautiful mosaic floors and Italian renaissance revival sculptures. Beyond the elegant lobby sits a small section also beautifully molded, with striking blue walls and a ticket desk against the back corner. I purchased a ticket for $16 and retrieved a map and flyer from the accommodating attendant. Two exhibits and the exit were behind her, with the bulk of the museum on the two floors above. She pointed across from her desk to a nondescript carpeted stairwell and suggested I climb to the top and work my way down. I nodded at the advice, said thank you, and made my way to the stairs.

I popped out in the middle of an exhibit and looked briefly for the next climb but saw none. It was immediately obvious this was a unique museum. Modern track lighting aided in the lighting of the exhibits, but the original electric chandeliers and light fixtures still hung in their original positions around the building. The entire museum is mostly unchanged as when it operated as a hotel at the turn of the 20th century. Looking for the staircase, I stumbled across a sculpture, a few furniture pieces, and oil paintings. A cast bronze Japanese piece of a bull and bear. Felix F. de Crano’s Moorish girl. An ornately crafted Syrian bench from the 1880s. And a provocative oil on canvas, the Cimon and Pera, flanked by two neoclassical vases. Already I thought this was impressive as I stepped into the glass gallery.

The “Brilliant” period

Nothing says wealth and class like cut glass table and glassware. To say the Lightner museum has the greatest collection in the country is an understatement. As someone who once conducted regular glassware inventory for fine dining, I can appreciate both the cost and delicate nature of the medium. Stemware is of a particularly finicky nature and the most common of glassware breaks. All these factors make the collection even more priceless. The period known as the gilded age is to the world of art glass, the brilliant period. With American glassmakers making huge advances in glass production and quality. The period saw the rise of the world-renowned Pitkin & Brooks, C. Dorflinger & Sons, T. G. Hawkes & Co., L. Straus & Sons, and Libby Glass Manufacturing Co. Libby Glass still provides glassware for the service industry, and middle-class homes today.

All of the cut glass is itself behind glass. Backed by a bright blue wall that gives the crystal pieces a deep sparkle in the sunlight pouring in from the windows above. Two large catalogs hung on podiums like phonebooks hanging in old phonebooths. The catalogs contained a page for each piece, detailing manufacturer, function, type, and in some cases, year of manufacture. It was a well-curated collection. Beautiful, sparkling, and regal. For the average guest of the hotel, these would have been the glassware and dishes upon which one would have dined. I stepped beyond the cut glass exhibit to the wider gallery, only to see a balcony above and knew it was the third floor. There must be an amazing overlook of this exhibit, so I pressed on for the stairwell.

The American castle

I couldn’t find the staircase but came across a beautiful golden elevator. The Hotel Alcazar here, and the Ponce de Leon Hotel across the street, now housing Flagler college, are some of the first buildings built for electricity with incandescent lighting and elevators. Thomas Eddison, a close friend of Henry Flagler, oversaw electricity installation during the Hotels’ construction. The Ponce de Leon is one of the first in the world to have been constructed with electricity in the building plan. The elevator here opened on the third floor into a beautiful landing with ornate staircases on either side. It had the look that defined the age. Beautifully crafted wood rails and stairs curved down the walls. One might imagine this being the type of staircase found in the Titanic or Biltmore Estate.

The stairs faced a wall of columned open doorways that led out onto the third-floor ballroom that now housed the American castle exhibit. The exhibit was magnificent. Beautifully crafted furniture, sculptures, and paintings represented the almost glutinous consumption of art and luxury. 18th-century Chinese desks, Victorian cushioned chairs, New England writing desks, countless vases, and paintings filled the space. A couple of pieces I found particularly interesting were a Cleopatra sculpture of Carrara and Breccia Violet Marble and travertine by the Italian Neoclassical artist Raffaelo Romanelli and a Dutch desk crafted in the French traditional style and said to be the desk of the King of Holland, Louis Bonaparte. His brother, Napolean Bonaparte, appointed him to the crown in 1806. It was an exhibit of total wealth and luxury. Many of the pieces are simply priceless.

The American castle exhibit marquee

“It is said that every man’s home is his castle. In 19th-century America, the rising industrial wealth took this maxim to new heights. As incredible fortunes were amassed from the Industrial Revolution, the new monied class created homes that have never been equaled in elegance and extravagance.

Social competition was keen and one-upmanship was the order of the day. Architects and decorators adorned these mansions with the finest stone, woods and metal. Upon completion the owners combed the markets of the world to fill their “palaces” with the grand, the exotic and the unusual.”

-Lighner Museum

Bouke de Vries: War and Pieces

On the far side of the third-floor ballroom, on the fringe of the American castle exhibit, currently stands a rather unusual sight in this mostly Victorian setting. A modern day sculpture by Bouke de Vries. Set on a long dining table, the exhibit is an arresting sight that uses the setting of a dinner party and the objects one might see at a dinner party, broken and reassembled to form an apocalyptic scene. A protest against war, the exhibit is currently touring the country and will be at the Lightner museum until December 2022.

“War and Pieces is a monumental contemporary craft installation that presents Dutch artist Bouke de Vries’s interpretation of an eighteenth-century tablescape. A former conservator of art objects, de Vries breathes new life into traditional materials, creating provocative works of art that blend historic porcelain with modern plastic elements. In War and Pieces, the past and present collide in a battle of objects, climaxing in a dramatic nuclear mushroom cloud.

Described as a “masterwork” by art critics, War and Pieces is currently touring in North America after traveling to venues throughout Europe and Asia. The tour is organized by Leslie Ferrin of Ferrin Contemporary. Bouke de Vries: War and Pieces at the Lightner Museum is supported by a grant from the St. Johns County Tourist Development Council.

-Lightner Museum

The pool

The multi-floor ballroom is opened wide, and on the ground floor, one can see the modern-day cafe that sits in what once was the largest indoor pool in the world. The width of the entire block, the pool was an unheard-of Hotel luxury at the time. There was, of course, a small display with a few pictures of the once iconic pool. Today the entire pool floor has been converted into a cafe and event space. Offering some incredibly luxurious spaces for even the pickiest of brides. I circled the collonade that overlooked the cafe and took a few shots from different angles, and then began my search for the other section of the third floor—the painting, portrait, and sculpture exhibit, Picturing a Nation.

After scampering around and finding my way back to the front desk, I was told I must ride the elevator to the third floor. Only this time, I was to push the button designated 3F and not the buttons marked 3R. Ahh, I thought, how silly of me. I hurried to the elevator, found my way to 3F, and entered the third-floor exhibit. Housing some of America’s greatest artists’ work from the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The art gallery offered some exquisite works from America’s great turn-of-the-century artists, all set in beautiful period frames.

Picturing a Nation

Upon entering the exhibit, one is immediately faced with amazing examples of the day’s oil on canvas landscapes. From the likes of the great Yosemite painter Herman Herzog to the bucolic backcountry landscapes of Warren Francis Snow. In addition to the Industrial age, it was the age of conservation. Through the work of these and other painters, such as the brilliant German-American Albert Bierstadt, the sweeping expanses of the west first came into focus for the broader American audience. It was an age that saw the first National Park when Yellowstone opened on March 1, 1872. With Sequoia and Yosemite following in 1890. Much of their work as some of the first to paint the west’s expanses helped fuel a new passion in America. The conservation of its wild spaces.

As I passed the last of the paintings, I saw an overlook of the glass gallery I had perused earlier. It was a beautiful sight from above. With the beautiful arched columns at my level, you could look down and see the whole exhibit. Beautiful chandeliers lit the cavernous space. It’s easy to imagine how magnificent this Hotel must have seemed in its time. It is an exquisite space. I took a moment to soak in all the shimmer and pressed on into the John Rogers exhibit.

John Rogers

Not as well known today as he had been in his time, John Rogers represents a unique phenomenon sweeping the nation in the mid to late 1800s. John Roberts was a sculptor and artist part of that early mass American culture. At his height in the 1880s, having a John Rogers statue was the standard for American conformation in the home. Typically depicting scenes of American life, John Rogers Groups, as they were popularly known, could be seen in the parlors of homes, libraries, and in bookstore windows across America. The statues had become so en Vogue that by 1885 the issuing of a new statue had become national news. Some of his most famous collectors were the likes of Lt. Col. George Custer and President Abraham Lincoln.

The gallery here had quite a collection. Typically between eight and forty-six inches tall, the sculptures were made of more affordable plaster and painted the color of grey putty to better hide dust. John Rogers first came to notoriety with the issuing of one of his earliest sculptures in 1860. Titled “The Slave Auction.” Very popular and controversial, it would lead to a series of Civil War statuettes that became famous following the war. It can be said of John Rogers that few other artists truly captured the period. His statuettes offer an unrivaled window into the manners, amusements, sports, social customs, costumes, and countless other details of the period—all well worth a closer look.

More notable works from Picturing a Nation

Illuminate

As I stepped out of Picturing a Nation, so did I complete the third-floor exhibits. Finding the gilded elevator, I went to the second floor to continue my exploration of the vast collection. Two exhibition exhibits were set on the second floor’s northern side of the pool. The first I came to was the illuminate. An exhibit of recently restored stained glass pieces Otto Lightner was known to collect with healthy vigor. Some truly remarkable pieces from some of the famous and not-so-famous glassmakers of the day. No collection from the period would be complete without Louis C. Tiffany, of course, though some equally skilled lesser-known firms like Willet Stained Glass and Rudy Brothers Glass Studio also populated the exhibit. A dragonfly lamp from Tiffany Studios, Beethoven, John Milton, and St. Augustine himself are some of the subjects used in the pieces.

The earliest examples of stained glass can be traced back to the Roman Empire. Though, it could possibly be further back, with the earliest discoveries of colored glass dating back to the Old Kingdom of Egypt circa 2700 B.C.E. However, the dawn of the American middle class in the post-Civil War years, brought on by economic growth spurred by the Industrial Revolution, coinciding with a revival in Gothic Architecture, led to an explosion also in stained glass manufacturing. Supported by glassmakers like Louis C. Tiffany and produced in their new Industrial era factories, stained glass saw its production expand to unprecedented levels. Gilded aged, stained glass was everywhere in 1900. Stained glass became a symbol of wealth and progress in the churches and estates across America. As I roamed the exhibit, I too could see the value in having such beautiful pieces adorning ones home.

Faces of the Alcazar

Across the second-floor ballroom stands the second exhibition exhibit, the hauntingly profound Faces of the Alcazar. I’m not entirely sure what made the exhibit so compelling, but I think it may have been due to the fundamental familiarity with the subject matter. After 100 years of silence, the old dormitories of the hotel staff, a place left untouched during the depression and Lightner’s museum reconstruction, were opened and explored for the first time. The walls were plastered with clippings from magazines of pop culture icons of the roaring 20s. Tattered, worn, and in many cases beyond identification, the rooms allowed for a peek into the life of the waiters, bartenders, cooks, maids, and housekeepers that worked the rooms and recesses of the fabled hotel.

As I began to take a closer look at the photographs taken of the items in the rooms, I couldn’t help but feel a connection to those workers who lived on the fourth floor of the hotel’s casino. Who today has not cut magazine clippings out of their favorite musician, band, or movie star and stuck them on your bedroom wall? I know I have. These wall clippings, combined with the fact that they were hospitality industry workers, gave me a feeling of connectedness I was not expecting. It really kind of evaporated the expanse of time and space between now and then, for me, at that moment. I couldn’t help but imagine myself roaming the hotel’s kitchen or service areas, preparing meals, or sneaking a quick bite in a back corridor. Some things it would appear, never change.

The Baths

I stood for a moment contemplating the universe’s wondrous mysteries before stepping out, and into the rest of the second floor, I had missed earlier—the complex and sophisticated bath house. Shortly before bathrooms came with each room, customers would come to the baths to clean up. Turkish bath for those who prefer dry, and the steamy Russian bath for those that don’t. Complete with porcelain tubs for those scrubbing plunges. The baths I found particularly interesting due to the complicated mechanical system used to move hot and cold water around one of the earliest pressurized water systems. Remember from dinner the other night that St. Augustine had a distillery to clean the hotels’ water.

The water would be pumped up to the top of the hotel’s two towers. The reason for the towers was to house water tanks for the pressurized water system of the hotel—a true luxury of the day. To have water out of the tap on demand, have it clean and safe to consume, and to take a bath in the same clean available water, truly was a luxury beyond imagining at the time. Something we take for granted today. In 1890 it was a complicated healthful affair.

“Crowds swarm in these baths. A man becomes a creature of three conditions. He is about to take a bath-he is taking a bath-he has taken a bath.”

Stephen Crane, Author,The Red Badge of Courage.

Lightner’s ordinary, interesting, odd, and unusual

Beyond the baths, porcelain, glassware, and art, deep in the recesses of the old Hotel, sits Otto Lightner’s Gallery. Home to his most personal and private objects and articles he felt compelled to acquire. Phonographs, drafting tools, a telegraph machine. A small steam engine and a giant blown glass steam engine. Cameras, statuettes, and gilded age globes. A lion, gifted to Winston Churchill to commemorate the liberation of North Africa. The most bizarre was a mummy with a death mask.

It was an interesting exhibit. It was the last exhibit and the one undoubtedly adjacent to the gift shop and exit. I walked the final set thinking of daily life in the age. Dining on roast beef in the dining room, perhaps. Or retiring to a hot bath, sending an instant telegram off to a relative 2,000 miles away, catching a short silent film in the Hotel’s theater, or maybe taking a dip in the pool. It was a world not so unfamiliar from our own.

The Ponce De Leon Hotel (Flagler College)

I popped out of the exit and found myself back in the courtyard. The building, the exhibits, and the entire downtown area had something special—a feel, a grandeur, an incredibly palpable elegance. I again explored the courtyard, taking in the scene before heading back out to the garden beyond the arched tunnel. In the brilliant sunlight stood my next subject of discovery, the beautiful Flagler College. Directly across the street at the main entrance stands a statue of Henry Flagler himself. The college’s namesake and the man who built these beautiful buildings.

Opened in 1888 as Hotel Ponce De Leon, it was the defining moment that put St. Augustine on the modern American proverbial map. The first building to have either running water or electricity. It was an even more luxurious experience than the Alcazar we had just explored. Only catering to the wealthiest of travelers, to stay at Ponce De Leon required a booking for the entire winter season. The only exception to this rule was the President of the United States. With Grover Cleveland, William McKinley, Theodore Roosevelt, Warren G. Harding, and Lyndon Baines Johnson all staying at the Ponce De Leon. I crossed the street and stood before a true Titan of Industry statue.

Henry Flagler

Henry Flagler was born on January 2, 1830, in Hopewell, New York, to a Presbyterian minister father Named Isaac and mother, Elizabeth Caldwell Harkness Flagler. A true Industrialist, Flagler began his journey to one of the wealthiest men of the age at just 14. The year was 1844, and Flagler earned a whopping $5 a month with room and board at a general store in Republic, Ohio. Owned by his maternal uncle, five years later, he would be promoted to sales in the grain division and a salary of $40 a month. By 1862, at 32, Flagler had saved enough to invest $50,000 in a salt mining operation outside Saginaw, Michigan. With the coming Civil War cutting into demand for salt by the general public, Flagler would ultimately go bankrupt in 1866.

He returned to Ohio and rejoined his family’s business ventures, particularly the Harkness grain division. His mother’s maiden name. In this new phase, Flagler would become prosperous and pay his debts from the salt business’s failure. He had become so successful in fact, that when John D. Rockefeller sought out investment in his new oil enterprise, Flagler and his Harkness cousins were some of his first attempts. For an initial $100,000 dollar investment and the stroke of a pen, Henry Flagler became a 1/3 share owner of Standard Oil with Rockefeller and Samuel Andrews. In just a few short years, Flagler’s cunning business sense, Rockefeller’s vision, and Samuel Andrew’s mechanical know-how would lead Standard oil to become the wealthiest company in the world.

The Structure

In this newfound wealth, Flagler would begin his Hotel and rail empire in 1885. The magnificent Spanish Renaissance Revival style Hotel would stand as a standard of excellence for the wealthy elite for almost 80 years. Constructed in the recently developed method of poured concrete, the Hotel would be the second building in St. Augustine constructed in this manner. The Villa Zorayda across the street was the first. Built in the Moorish Revival style, it would be the next structure we were headed to. But now we explore the red brick and coquina concrete Hotel. Truly inspiring images of the Rennaisance period, the deep red brick accents and roof tiles give the whole space a very Mediterranean feel.

Just beyond Flagler’s statue are ornately sculpted arched entranceways to what is the massive courtyard that the main buildings surround. I stepped through and felt immediate sense of wonder. The detail of the accents around the building was breathtaking. With massive colonnades, arcades, and walkways edging the courtyard, it gave the property a grandeur and magnificence that is difficult to express in prose. Perfectly twisted corinthian columns, exquisitely crafted wooden doorways, marble inlays, and oxidized brass dragon pour spouts from the gutter system. Every detail is perfect, balanced, and symmetrical. It gives the old Hotel an almost air of divinity. It could easily be a Church, Mosque, Synagogue, or Monastery.

Flagler College

Upon the closure of Hotel Ponce De Leon in 1967, the property was converted into Flagler college which opened a year later. Also founded that year, the college stands as the curator for what is a functioning work of art. A private liberal arts college, Flagler College is a modern testament to the ideals and works that helped define a generation. Designated a historical landmark in 2007, the college shares a mission to preserve not only the structure but also the legacy of Henry Flagler. A four-year program, students learn and live among some of the most historically significant surroundings in America.

The architecture firm was none other than Carrere and Hastings. They would later design the New York Public Library. Furniture produced by New York furniture design firm Pottier & Stymus. The draftsman of the later completed Palace of Fine Arts in San Francisco, Bernard Maybeck, cut his teeth on the Ponce De Leon. Painter George W. Maynard, who would later paint the murals in the Library of Congress, produced murals in the rotunda and dining room. We’ve mentioned Thomas Edison personally installed the electricity. But probably the most famous of those involved would leave his mark on the entire property.

Tiffany & Co.

Commissioned to oversee the interior design of the entire building, Louis C. Tiffany had no desire to be outdone. Seeing great talent in early careers, Tiffany himself commissioned some of America’s greatest artists of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Tiffany’s vision and eye for art brought the future pillars of architecture and design to the hotel and transformed it into a wonder of the age. Today students eat in the warm light of million-dollar Tiffany glass fixtures, multimillion-dollar stained glass windows, and priceless watercolor murals. I feel I said it already, but the Tiffany windows in the student dining room, a room not on the tour, are insured for hundreds of millions of dollars.

As we come to the great murals and art pieces in our story, so too do I come to them in life. I stepped into the rotunda and peered up at the priceless images. Set in ever-shrinking concentric circles of gold and dark walnut, the detail and beauty of the ceiling are immediate. With beautiful circular collonades trimmed in exquisitely crafted wood, and intricate mosaic marble floors, the space did feel divine. This can’t possibly be the work of man 130 years ago. This structure is truly the result of the vision, perseverance, blood, sweat, and sheer force of will, but not entirely of man. There is divine inspiration here.

Villa Zorayda

I stood for some time soaking in the Ponce De Leon, it was just that inspiring. But I knew I didn’t have all day, and I had another museum I intended to explore. I stepped out past Flagler’s statue and headed west to the corner of the block. Across the street, at an angle, next to the Lightner Museum, sits a rather unusual structure. The Villa Zorayda was built in 1883 by Franklin W. Smith. Another Industrialist and business associate of Rockefeller’s and Flagler’s. Smith developed the poured concrete technique using crushed coquina shells and invited Flagler to St. Augustine for his first visit. Constructed in the Moorish revival style and modeled on the Alhambra Palace in Granada, Spain, the structure even today is a striking sight in the opulent block.

Originally Smith’s winter residence, the structure would serve as a private club, speakeasy, private home again, and finally, a museum. Two years after Smith’s death in 1913, the property was sold to Lebanese immigrants Abraham Mussalem and his wife, Olga. Occupying the Villa as a residence for more than a decade, the couple decided to open it as a museum in 1933. Partly to aid in the preservation of the city’s growing history. Today the descendants of Abraham and Olga still curate the museum. Filled with items from both the family of Franklin W. Smith and the Mussalem family, the exhibits offer interesting objects and art pieces from the world over.

The Museum

Just inside the entrance sits a little ticket booth. Today it was manned by an eccentric fellow in a casual blue suit, bowtie, wired spectacles, and handlebar mustache. Just as much a part of the period as the items themselves. He explained the museum, a small Nokia-sized handset offers the tour, and I paid my $12. A simple system, each exhibit, and some specific objects were marked with numbers. Scroll the handset to the number you wish, and it gives a short audio presentation of the item in question. Following the ticket man’s simple directions, one can flow through the museum on cue to the next number.

You can, however, do what I did and wander off in the wrong direction. Or stare mindlessly into a statue and listen to a story of a statue, only to find the number not very visible, and actually, ah, not the right statue at all. As confusing as some items were, the system seemed new, probably a product of the pandemic. I haphazardly explored the floors of the unique museum in somewhat of an educated process. The walls were intricately carved and imported from North Africa. The carpet and rug collections were particularly impressive, with one subject over 2500 years old. A rare feline rug made from the fur of what must have been a lot of cats. Found in the Nile river region sometime in the 19th century.

Some of the collection

Eventually, I made my way through the museum. It was surprisingly impressive, many private museums tend to be underfunded and underwhelming, but the Villa Zorayda captured the time. The collections are extensive and varied. And all things considered, it was well worth the $12. I reached the last number on the dial, I can’t remember what that number was, 70 something, 50 something, enough to keep one busy for an afternoon. By now, that tingling sensation a husband gets, that spidey sense, was detecting a disturbance in the force. It must be time to return to the house. Someone is actively waiting.

Upon my return, Maggie and Lisa were itching for some beach time. Diem and Jennie, still tired and content to lounge at the house, decided to sit this one out. We loaded up and headed to the public beach further south on Anastasia island. A cute and typical southern beach town vibe was tangible, and we found free public parking near the beach’s entrance. This time we weren’t in a state park and a section of the dune had been carved out for easy access. We walked down the fluffy sand to a spot that looked promising and set up. The girls headed straight for the water, I settled in for a warm and breezy beach nap.

St. Augustine Lighthouse

At some point in the afternoon, I was stirred with declarations of leaving, and we packed up. Knowing that our time in St. Augustine was soon concluding, I took the opportunity to swing into the Lighthouse parking lot as we raced home from the beach. The hour was late, and the Lighthouse and its associated museum were already closing for the day. I walked the perimeter of the front part of the property for a few photos and found a couple of diagram-like signs with information about the lighthouse.

Constructed in 1874, the tower is the third such structure used as a lighthouse for St. Augustine. With the first two towers being consumed by the sea. Standing an impressive 162 feet in height, the black and white structure is the oldest intact brick structure in St. Augustine. The lighthouse is a monument to the Industrialization of America, constructed of Philadelphia iron and Alabama brick, and on the backs of the newly formed working class of America. The silvery blue chromatic thing the Florida sky does in the late afternoon was washing out the color of my pictures. So we simply made our way home. I, for one, was getting hungry.

Salt Life Food Shack

Seafood was on everyone’s mind again, at least most, and we found what looked like a good beach restaurant on Anastasia Island. One of those not exactly corporate types of restaurant groups with a handful of regional restaurants. All in heavily touristy areas. The restaurant was massive. For our enjoyment, it had a rooftop patio with views of both sunset and sea. Mostly exhausted, we ordered simple fare. A couple of types of oysters, the cleverly named “beach boil,” Ceaser salad, and pasta. We soaked in the sunset and talked about the week. It would be our last dinner in the Ancient City. Tomorrow we would make the trek home.

Sitting at the table slurping oysters and contemplating life in general, I saw the condiment caddy on the table. One particular bottle stood out, and I picked it up for a closer look. A standard pepper bottle with a rather unique label. What appeared to be a wave crashing and the words “A Frame Datil Pepper Sauce.” I knew it must be a local brand, the pepper is almost exclusively cultivated in St. Johns County, and as I peered into the bottle, my mind instantly floated off to other jars and bottles I’ve seen around the city.

Minorcans, Datil Peppers, British East Florida, and the Moorish conquest

Minorca is a Spanish island in the Balearic archipelago, about 100 miles from Barcelona by sea. In 1767 Dr. Andrew Turnbull landed in Minorca to hire labor for his newly acquired Royal land grant in British East Florida. Establishing an indigo plantation for the cotton industry was Turnbull’s commission. The island had recently been dealing with an economic downturn, so it was the perfect place to set up H.Q. while the fleet sought indentured servants to help establish the new colony. The company spent much of a year cruising the Mediterranean for islanders from Greece, Italy, France, Corsica, and Spain. Often taking advantage of debtors and the downtrodden. Turnbull and the expedition set sail from their base in Minorca for British East Florida to establish a colony in New Smyrna.

A decade later, the colony had matured, but life in the tropical wilderness was harsh and unforgiving. Matters took an even darker turn when Turnbull couldn’t honor his agreement of land and freedom after a decade of labor in the relentless Florida sun. An uprising was brewing when, in 1777, the colonists revolted from their plantation overlords and marched north—arriving in the city of St. Augustine a short time later. The destitute colonists beseeched Patrick Tonyn, then governor of British East Florida, for reprieve. He granted them a neighborhood in the northwest section of the fledgling port city of St. Augustine.

Modern ties

Those colonists would settle into their own little subculture of the city known today as the Minorcans of St. Augustine. There are many tales of how the Minorcans introduced their own foods, traditions, and culture into the city’s fabric. The Datil Chili, a close relative of the habanero, is said to have become integral in local food customs due to the Mediterranean spicy diet brought by the Minorcans. Additionally, Minorca was conquered during the Moorish invasions of Spain and the western Mediterranean. A dish still very popular in St. Augustine today comes from this Moorish influence.

Pronounced locally as “perlo,” the dish is spelled pilau, the original East African rice dish. As rice made its way into Mesopotamia and the Levant in ancient times, it spread north to become the rice pilafs of Turkey, Iran, and Eastern Europe. And to Eastern Africa as Pilau, which is still popular in Kenya and as far south as Tanzania. Then the pilau continued to spread across North Africa, where it eventually made its way into Spain and Portugal during the Moorish conquest. Here it became what we know today as paella.

Minorcans and the datil

The Minorcans would establish businesses and industries with only the skills they brought from Minorca and the islands of the Mediterranean. Often becoming river pilots, boat builders, fishermen, shrimpers, and net makers, and cultivating and tying to their own culture and tradition, the datil pepper. Today you can still see the influence and integration between Minorcan and the datil chili pepper. Now grown on a larger scale but still mostly in the region, the datil chili owes its modern popularity and existence to the early Minorcans incorporating the chili into their daily cuisine. The early and modern stewards of the rare local chili.

Henry Flagler – Builder of Churches

The alarm began to blare at what felt like a disrespectful hour. Vacation time had come to an end. It was time to go home. Check-out was at 11. But, in classic Davis fashion, there’s no time like now when it’s time to go. We were out of the property several hours early, and I had just one last thing to see. Henry Flagler was many things. Industrialist, entrepreneur, railroad Baron, oil magnate. But one thing that struck me as unexpected was the prolific nature with which he either built or helped to build the beautiful churches of St. Augustine.

As Flagler surveyed the city, looking for a place for his future hotel empire, he discovered a perfect location. However, the parcel of land was already occupied by the local Methodist congregation. Flagler, never failing to see an opportunity, met with the congregation on the site of the Hotel Alcazar. He offered to bring in the best architects and builders to erect what would be a spectacular house of worship. And it would be constructed on a new piece of property Flagler would of course, provide. Designed again by the New York firm of Carrere and Hastings, Flagler would build the $84,000 dollar ($2.5 million in 2022) Grace United Methodist Church in exchange for the downtown property worth at the time $4,000 ($122,175 in 2022). A deal that both would prosper from.

Ask, and ye shall receive

Hearing of the Methodist’s windfall, the Baptists were not to be excluded. In need of a new place to worship, the congregation would beseech Flagler for aid in acquiring a church for their fledgling congregation, having only been organized in 1887. Flagler offered them a piece of land with a couple of requirements. The Church needed to be constructed within two years, the structure could not cost less than $10,000 debt-free, and a bell could not be hung in the tower. Constructed in Romanesque Revival style, the church was completed in 1895 with all of Flagler’s conditions met. The terms may seem strict, but it was in keeping with the trends of the city’s architecture and helped establish the church as a financially healthy, lasting institution.

Flagler Memorial Presbyterian Church

In 1889 heartbreak filled the Flagler home. Henry Flagler’s daughter, Jennie Louise Flagler Benedict, gave birth to a baby girl, Marjory. The birth was difficult, and within hours both mother and daughter died. A practicing Presbyterian, Flagler set out to honor his daughter and granddaughter’s legacy by building a church as a monument to their memory. The only building in St. Augustine constructed in Venetian Renaissance style, the beautiful copper dome reaches 150 feet and was completed in 1890. The church seats 600 and was a respectable $200,000 to build ($6.1 million in 2022).

As we rode out of the neighborhood for the last time, we made our way to the fabled church. Its beauty was unquestioned. I found a place to park in the early morning quiet and explored the church grounds. The Venetian-style towers, rose cut and stained glass windows were beyond impressive. The entire city was far more beautiful than I imagined. The Alcazar, Ponce De Leon, and Casa Monica Hotels, its churches, and old colonial buildings made a surprising mark on our visit. I had no idea that so much American history was embedded in the old Spanish colony. From titans of industry to humble Minorcans, St. Augustine is a far more interesting place than one might think. It unexpectedly lives up to its reputation as America’s oldest city.

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