For Sale —American Paradise (54 page)

Winter visitors were bringing new money to Florida, and the season promised to be “bigger and better than ever before,” Menninger wrote. “You are going to see more smiles in Florida from now on and fewer long faces.”

And people were coming to Florida despite the stock market crash. In its issue of January 1930,
National Geographic
magazine reported that tourists in Florida would spend about $200 million—more than $2.7 billion in twenty-first-century dollars—between December 1929 and March 1930.

But a return to prosperity for Florida was not just around the corner, and Edwin Menninger was among the first to publicly acknowledge that reality.

An editorial published in the July 30, 1930, edition of Menninger's
Stuart Daily News
was an epitaph for both the Florida land boom and the wild decade of unfettered hope, profound upheaval, unbridled foolishness, and crushing disappointment that had just ended with a crash.

“They once tasted excitement, and the dregs of routine are bitter,” the editorial said. “We are only cheating ourselves when we dream about the rising of a magic metropolis here overnight.”

Menninger kept the
South Florida Developer
going for a while, but stopped publishing it in 1931.

But he kept the
Stuart Daily News
going even as the Great Depression strangled the US economy. He reduced the newspaper's publication schedule from daily to once a week, and changed the name to the
Stuart News
. And he showed the same resourcefulness and thrift that had allowed him to skillfully manage and expand his newspaper routes as a boy in Kansas. When cash became almost impossible to come by in the depths of the Depression, he set up a barter system. Advertisers who couldn't pay cash for an ad gave Menninger vouchers for goods or services. On paydays, employees received the vouchers as part of their pay.

Florida didn't recover from the collapse of the boom until after World War II, when the state's sunshine and temperate climate—coupled with air-conditioning and effective mosquito-
control programs—once again attracted newcomers with pockets stuffed full of cash from America's post–World War II prosperity. There was no mad, colorful land speculation boom such as what occurred in the 1920s, but developers and tourism boosters still sold Florida as a fantasyland.

Edwin Menninger became a community pillar as he helped Martin County become one of the nation's most prosperous counties. He also wrote a series of books about tropical flowering trees that made him a world-
renowned expert on the topic. By the time of his ninetieth birthday in 1986, he was a beloved and respected figure in Martin County.

The collapse of the Florida land boom left a bitter aftertaste for Martin County residents who rode out the tough times after the crash. When newcomers and ambitious developers started returning in the 1950s, a new generation of local leaders would have none of the wild, grandiose growth plans that had made their parents so starry-eyed.

In the coming decades, the county enacted some of the most restrictive development regulations in the state. The result is that Martin County has retained much of its subtropical splendor while attracting some of the world's wealthiest retirees.

Menninger died on February 17, 1995. The ailing young journalist who'd come to Florida in 1922 to shake the flu had lived to be nearly one hundred years old. He'd also helped to transform Stuart into a beautiful, prosperous little city, and shape Florida into the nation's tropical paradise.

If you head south on Interstate 95 or Interstate 75 on the Sunday following Thanksgiving, you will become part of a migration that is as predictable as any seasonal cycle of nature.

On that day, thousands of people pile into their automobiles and head south to Florida. Whether they've left from upstate New York, from Kentucky, or from Ontario, by the time they reach the Georgia-Florida border, this sunshine-
bound caravan has formed into phalanxes of motor vehicles, many miles long, often moving at eighty miles an hour.

They aren't going to Florida to seek the ordinary. They're going there in search of things that don't exist anywhere else—a winter suntan, a respite from the discomforts of old age, a stylish escape into luxury and fantasy. And they'll probably find what they're seeking.

In the following weeks, thousands more will follow. Multimillion-dollar yachts escaping icy northern waters will arrive at Palm Beach, Sarasota, Jupiter Island, Ocean Reef, and other exclusive Florida harbors. Drawbridges will be going up and down and cars will be backed up, and year-round residents caught in the snarled traffic will look at each other wryly and say, “They're back!”

But they never really left. Despite continued challenges in the decades that followed the insanity of the 1920s—more terrible hurricanes, more ups and downs in the state's real estate and housing markets, and a steady succession of bizarre and sometimes macabre news stories coming out of Florida—the crowds kept coming. “Visit Florida,” the state's official Department of Tourism web-site, said that almost ninety-seven million visitors came to Florida in 2014, and spent more than $82 billion. More than one million workers have jobs that are related to tourism, and the industry produces 23 percent of the state's revenue from sales tax.

Florida, more than any other state, is associated with a healthful life in the sun and the fulfillment of dreams and fantasies. Even the vision that drove Hamilton Disston to suicide has been realized. The land where he once planned a “magic” city is now home to Walt Disney World's “Magic Kingdom,” where fantasies are a serious and lucrative business.

The state offers something for everyone, regardless of age, income, personal interests, or sexual orientation.

Upscale families and singles are lured to places such as Sanibel and Captiva Islands, and other destinations that are well beyond the reach of all but the wealthiest. College students on spring break cram into the bars of Panama City Beach and Key West.

In the sports world, a winter trip to Florida becomes a symbol of the pinnacle of success for hundreds of thousands of fans. Backers of successful college
football teams go to Jacksonville, Orlando, Miami, or Tampa to see their favorites play in a postseason bowl game. And the Super Bowl is regularly played in one of those cities as well.

In October, gays and lesbians look forward to the annual Fantasy Fest, a colorful, stylish, and always outrageous weeklong street party in Key West.

The enticement of Florida can be permanent instead of seasonal. Couples reaching retirement age leave behind the cares of a lifetime and, as Homer Simpson once phrased it, “run out the clock in Florida.” The well-heeled buy multimillion-
dollar homes at Ocean Reef and Jupiter Island, or in oceanfront gated communities all along the state's nearly 2,300-mile coastline. Others go to affordable retirement towns such as Port St. Lucie, Winter Haven, and Port Charlotte, where, after decades of planning and saving, they settle into their 2,000-square-foot houses on their 10,000-square-foot lots.

The lure is so intense that desperate Cubans have risked their lives aboard flimsy rafts, hoping that fate and the whims of the winds and tides will push them across the Straits of Florida to a land of opportunity where they can have a better life.

But Florida has not escaped the cycles of fiscal boom and bust and earthly natural disasters.

There have been other economic peaks and valleys, albeit none as colorful and outrageous as those of the 1920s. The wave of foreclosures and struggling condominium associations in Miami and other Florida cities that followed the collapse of the subprime mortgage market in 2008 are eerily similar to the collapse of the state's real estate market nearly ninety years ago.

And there have been other spectacular natural disasters. In 1992, Hurricane Andrew terrified South Florida and came within a few miles of inflicting a repeat of the devastating 1926 storm that wrecked Miami. In 2004 and 2005, a series of powerful hurricanes swept across Florida and drove many discouraged residents from the state.

Americans have short memories, however, and those who seek a better life will always be drawn to Florida. It's still a land of perpetual sunshine and sea breezes, and savvy observers of Florida's real estate market think the state will recover again. In the wake of the subprime mortgage debacle, Karen Procell, a former real estate attorney in Orlando, said she thought the real estate market would stabilize, and her reasoning had a very familiar ring to it.

“The year-round sunshine motivates tons of people, especially up North,” Procell said. “The proximity to beaches on either coast, the sand, sun, and beautiful people of Miami Beach, the theme parks in Orlando—that's an appealing lifestyle, especially if you're out shoveling snow and it's ten below zero.

“These things don't go away. The beaches aren't going to go away; the sunshine is not going to go away. People want that. That will continue to be attractive to them.”

The next round of feverish real estate speculation could begin around the centennial of the Florida land boom of the 1920s. And when the new generation of boomers arrives, all of the earlier hopes and dreams that have been dashed to pieces amid the palm trees and wading birds and pink-and-vermilion sunsets won't matter to these new seekers. They'll see the gorgeous twilight reflected in the water that seems to be everywhere, and they'll watch the breakers roll onto a beach, and feel the sun warming their bones. And like the paradise seekers who've been coming to Florida for centuries, they'll have no earthly idea how powerful a hurricane can be.

Instead, they'll see all of the promise that Florida offers, and like Theodore Dreiser—standing on the shores of Lake Okeechobee, deeply moved by the fragile beauty of it all—they'll convince themselves that by coming to Florida they can achieve the American dream of perpetual happiness in the sun.

This book would not have happened without the tireless efforts of my agent, Jeanne Fredericks, of the Jeanne Fredericks Literary Agency in New Canaan, Connecticut. I owe her a tremendous debt of gratitude. Every writer should be so lucky to find an agent like her—diligent, loyal, and tenacious.

Marissa Walsh of Gotham Writers' Workshop in New York City was invaluable as a marketing consultant and was instrumental in getting the book proposal ready to pitch to publishers.

I'm very grateful to Lyons Press for their commitment to this project, and I was so very lucky that they assigned Tom McCarthy as my editor. He was a patient, unflappable veteran with a steady hand. His support of this project and faith in me were inspiring and deeply appreciated.

I'd also like to thank senior acquisitions editor Holly Rubino and production editor Lauren Brancato at Lyons for their guidance. Copyeditor Melissa Hayes had a light but deft touch on the manuscript.

Miami historian Paul George encouraged me to take on this project and helped me with his own deep expertise on the history of the Florida land boom. Historian Robert Alicea at the University of South Florida in Tampa also provided guidance and research sources.

My old friend, novelist and screenwriter John Miglis, helped me shape the narrative and offered additional advice and commentary during discussions at various watering holes in St. Augustine. He and his lovely wife, Diane—who bakes an amazing shepherd's pie—gave me warm hospitality and provided a base of operations during many research trips to Florida.

Paul Dickson, author of dozens of books about everything from history to baseball, was always willing to share his wisdom.

Meteorology instructor Greg Nordstrom at Mississippi State University in Starkville and cinematographer and storm-chaser Michael Laca of
Tropmet.com
in Miami reviewed some of the sections about hurricanes. Meteorologist Rob Jones of Pembroke Pines provided a treasure trove of information about Florida in the 1920s.

Virginia Menninger of Jensen Beach told me about her late father-in-law and former employer, Edwin Menninger. Mabel Witham of Stuart shared useful documents and helped me find other sources of information. Stuart author Sandra Thurlow generously shared photos from her collection for the book.

Bob DeGross, chief of interpretation and public affairs at Big Cypress National Preserve in Ochopee, was kind enough to review and critique my narrative of the construction of the Tamiami Trail.

Librarians and archivists—those diligent and unsung caretakers of our accumulated knowledge—made huge contributions to this book. I'm grateful to the staffs at the George A. Smathers Libraries at the University of Florida in Gainesville, the Richter Library at the University of Miami, and the Collier County Public Library in Naples, and to the archivists at the National Archives and Records Administration in College Park, Maryland, and the State Archives of Florida in Tallahassee.

Jim Misenheimer, my friend since childhood, and his wife, Cindy, allowed me unrestricted use of their cabin in the Uwharrie Mountains back home in Stanly County, North Carolina, where I could work in undisturbed privacy anytime I wanted. My brother-in-law, Bob Morrow, and his wife, Ann Marie, let me set up shop in their home in Glen Ridge, New Jersey, when I needed to attend meetings in New York City. I'm also grateful to Pat Huber of Roseville, Minnesota, for the use of her house at Fort Myers Beach during a lengthy research trip to Florida.