Sanford Police Video of George Zimmerman

See it for yourself. Watch it again and again. It’s grainy, but you may get something out of it. Please share your thoughts. All opinions are welcome.

The National Rally for Justice on behalf of Trayvon Martin

I attended the rally for Trayvon Martin last Thursday, March 22, in Sanford. I chose to go because I truly believe Trayvon Martin was murdered. I don’t believe George Zimmerman ever set out to kill anyone that day or any other time, but a teenager is dead and he alone is responsible. 

The Stand Your Ground law does not give citizens the right to kill on a whim. You cannot be the aggressor and use the law as an excuse. In truth George Zimmerman stalked a child.

Jeffrey Toobin is an attorney, author and legal analyst. On the slate.com Website, Toobin states, “Trayvon saw someone following him, felt threatened, retreated, was still followed, and then was approached by an armed man who had 100 lbs on him. … Because Zimmerman was acting as an aggressor, Trayvon had the right to defend himself by punching, kicking, tackling, etc. Because Zimmerman was acting as the aggressor, his actions cannot be considered self-defense: you can’t initiate and then claim self-defense. The evidence for initiation is there on the 911 tape. … Why is it that a black man cannot be afraid of a white man who follows and approaches him on a street at night?”

A lot of trashtalk is coming out on Trayvon now. Some of it may be true, but it still means nothing to me. Zimmerman may not be guilty of a hate crime, but that doesn’t mean he’s innocent in the 17-year-old’s death.

I will be posting more articles in the coming days, but first, the following is a video I put together of 50 of the 141 photographs that I took at the National Rally for Justice on behalf of Trayvon Martin. Please watch it and if you feel like it, let me know what you think. Right now, I’ve got 50 pictures to post on my blog, but not on my front page. I’ll post a link to it when it’s up.

CLICK HERE TO SEE ALL PHOTOGRAPHS

The Tragedy of Trayvon Martin

PLEASE READ MY NEW POST HERE:

SLIMM V. ZIMM

By now, the entire world knows who Trayvon Martin is — the unarmed 17-year-old African-American lad shot dead in his tracks by an overzealous Neighborhood Watch captain, George “Triggerman” Zimmerman, on February 26 in Sanford, Florida. Before delving too deeply into this tragedy, just what is Neighborhood Watch, and who (or what) gives people the right to shoot anyone?

Actually, the National Neighborhood Watch Institute has no authority or control over anything. According to the NNWI Website, it “was formed to supply law enforcement agencies and individual’s [sic] better tools for their crime prevention dollar.”

Basically, NNWI sells the materials, including signs and manuals, necessary for police departments to train people like “Triggerman” Zimmerman. In my opinion, whatever the police department was that trained him, they did a remarkably lousy job. While the NNWI strives to “provide excellent educational materials and products that build observation and reporting skills,” somewhere along the line, all of Zimmerman’s training went out the window with one squeeze of the trigger. Not only did the system fail him, he failed the system dreadfully.

The location of the shooting was inside the gated community of The Retreat at Twin Lakes. Zimmerman lives in that community and he’s the self-appointed Neighborhood Watch captain. Apparently, he called 911 at least 47 times between August 12, 2004 and Feb. 26 of this year. Most of the calls started the same way about suspicious persons, “We’ve had a lot of break-ins in our neighborhood recently and I’m on the Neighborhood Watch.”

George Zimmerman 911 Call History

How revealing it is that most of those suspicious characters were black, yet this shooting is not supposed to be about racial profiling? Give me a break.

I went to the scene on March 21 and spoke to several people. I took photos of the spot where Trayvon died, and I laid it all out in the pictures displayed below to give you a good idea of what went down that tragic Sunday evening.

CLICK PHOTOS TO ENLARGE

This map shows the route Trayvon Martin took when he returned.

Visiting from Miami, Trayvon walked to a nearby 7-Eleven, but when I say nearby, it was about a 2-mile hike. I’m sure, like other boys his age, he got restless inside his father’s girlfriend’s house and needed to get out to do what 17-year-olds do; they text and talk on their phones. That’s not all. He wanted to buy something for his soon-to-be stepbrother, so when he got to the store, he bought a bag of Skittles and a can of iced tea, turned around and headed back. Very suspicious, huh?

Almost immediately after Trayvon returned to the gated community, Zimmerman began to slowly tail him in his pickup truck. It’s as if he were lying in wait… lurking… ready to pounce at any moment. He dialed 9-1-1 to, once again, report a suspicious character, whose crime thus far was merely being black. When Trayvon put his hoodie up to keep the falling rain off his head, he suddenly morphed into a black thug. You see? This is racial profiling, plain and simple.

Straight ahead, between the two perpendicular rows of buildings, is the sidewalk Trayvon took to escape Zimmerman. It was the way back to where he was staying. 

 

Zimmerman has a concealed weapons permit and was carrying a Kel Tek 9mm PF9 semi-automatic handgun. Why, in God’s name, anyone like him needs to carry a gun in his capacity as a nobody with no authority whatsoever is beyond me. Today, he is a murderer in my book.

In recorded 911 calls, Zimmerman acknowledged that he was following a suspicious person. At some juncture, he parked his truck and began pursuing Trayvon on foot. In his subsequent statements to police, he claimed that Trayvon attacked him and he shot the teenager in self-defense, but here’s where his story falls apart. (Continued below the photos)

This is the path Trayvon took, looking south. Scott is on the left. Both are from a Japanese media organization. Facing me is the direction Trayvon took. Zimmerman parked his truck somewhere near the red car and pursued on foot.

This is the spot where Trayvon died, just to the left of the small tree.

Trayvon never left the sidewalk. He followed the path to where he was staying. As he approached his destination, the sidewalk went from being parallel to the street to winding around the side and backside of two rows of townhouses. In order to continue following his prey, Zimmerman had to get out of his pickup to pursue him. He had to run, too, which is clearly evident on one of the 911 recordings, where he acknowledges to the dispatcher that he is running after him. The dispatcher tells him not to do that, to which Zimmerman says “OK” yet ignores the request. Incidentally, dispatchers have no authority. They are civilians and all they can do is offer advice.

This is the scene looking south. The shooting took place on the sidewalk to the left.

This is what Trayvon last saw as he tried to make it back to safety, although it was dark.

From what I was told near the scene, Zimmerman raced in front of Trayvon and swung around abruptly to face him. Both stopped in their tracks. Trayvon was on the phone with his girlfriend at that moment. Bear in mind that Zimmerman weighed about 100 lbs. more than Trayvon. Trayvon asked Zimmerman why he was following him and Zimmerman demanded to know why he was there.

STOP! BACK UP!

Here’s where it gets tricky. If a nutbasket like Zimmerman came up to me, I’d want to know who gave him the authority to question who I am and why I’m anywhere. I’d ask him if he were a cop. No? Then get out of my face. It’s none of his business. That’s a natural reaction. Someone pushed first. It doesn’t matter who, because, in no time at all, a senseless vigilante pulled out his weapon and shot an innocent person dead on the spot. He shot him point blank in the chest. I’ve heard rumors he did it while the teenager was lying on the ground, on his back, but I haven’t heard anything official yet.

One of the people I spoke to was Sly, who lives nearby, but not inside The Retreat. He said that, obviously, Zimmerman knew all about the Stand Your Ground law, where you shoot to kill and claim self-defense. Without a witness, who’s there to contest it? Because of that law, the Sanford Police Department chose to not arrest Zimmerman, but my big question to them is quite simple — has there ever been an incident anywhere in the world where a bag of Skittles and a can of iced tea was used to threaten someone or cause death or great bodily harm?

I didn’t think so.

Trayvon was on his cell phone talking to his 16-year-old girlfriend within minutes of his death. He told her he was being followed. She told him to run. He told her he’d walk a little faster, but he wasn’t going to run. Trayvon had no idea who this dude was or what he wanted. When he walked around the corner of a building, Zimmerman zipped on by and swung around.

“What are you following me for?” Trayvon asked.

“What are you doing around here?” Zimmerman demanded.

Trayvon must have been pushed, his girlfriend assumed, because his headset fell to the ground and the phone went dead. Who pushed who first doesn’t matter. This is clearly the case of a cop wannabe. Zimmerman took the law into his own hands, as if he had the power of a real law enforcement officer. This was his goal in life — to be a cop. In one loud pop, that dream went down the drain as blood flowed from Trayvon’s chest. Trayvon’s own dreams faded into oblivion in a matter of seconds.

There’s a good reason why Zimmerman never became a police officer. What’s sad is that no one looked at him intently enough to know he was a threat to everyone’s safety; a guy who took his self-proclaimed title as captain of the neighborhood too seriously. Today, he’s nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer. He alone provoked the incident. Would someone please tell the Sanford Police Department that you cannot be the instigator and then claim Stand Your Ground self-defense?

Incidentally, police confiscated Zimmerman’s gun. He says he needs to buy a replacement to keep up his work as a Neighborhood Watch captain. Would someone please tell me this is not an insane world?

Tonight, I will try my best to join thousands of others in the National Rally for Justice on behalf of Trayvon Martin.

George & Cindy's "Charity" Website Suspended

Someone alerted me to a good-sized development in Caylee’s Fund that should have us all relieved and, possibly, perplexed. It’s been suspended! Why? I don’t know, but I’m sure it has nothing to do with a lack of funding. Purportedly, Dr. Phil paid the non-profit $500,000 to have George and Cindy Anthony appear on his show, but he only acknowledged it was a six-figure amount. Rumors have swirled for months that Casey was paid a whopping $120,000 from the fund, but I cannot show proof of any kind. 

I have said on several occasions that the possibility is real that George and Cindy Anthony made a pact with the devil in order to get their daughter out of jail. By that, I don’t mean literally. It’s a euphimism, unless you think Casey is, in fact, the devil. Just prior to the start of the trial, Cindy and Mark Lippman met privately with Casey’s attorney, Jose Baez. Lippman is George and Cindy’s lawyer. George was not invited to the meeting and this said volumes to me. It meant that Cindy and Lippman were in on the defense strategy to do a character assassination of George — one that began during Baez’s opening statement at trial — or it meant that George was conspicuously absent from the meeting to make it look like he had nothing to do with the made-up story. 

At one of the final hearings before the trial began, I was in the courtroom when Baez asked George on the stand if he would do anything for his daughter. Most of you should remember it, too. George’s reaction? Yes, absolutely, he would do anything, and he was quite vocal about it. When asked if he would lie for Casey, his answer was a resounding YES! 

This signalled (to me) that what most of us had sensed all along was true. The Anthonys were, and remain, natural born liars. With the information gathered from the mouth of George Anthony, he spoke the truth, under oath, that he was willing to do anything to rescue his grandchild’s alleged murderer. Did this include his willingness to be the fall guy? All he had to do was take the bashing because, in the end, no one in the public would believe he ever sexually molested anyone in his family, let alone do any harm to Caylee. Simply put, just deny everything on the stand, which he did, but in the end, it confounded the jury and the plan worked. George came across looking like a liar and a loser — and that’s all the jury had to see to create a semblance of doubt. George looked guilty of something.

Want more? Cindy stated under oath that she made chloroform searches at home on two separate dates, while her bosses at Gentiva Health, Deborah Polisano and John Camperlengo, testified that she couldn’t have because she was at work and logged into her work computer. They also had time cards to prove she was there. Despite their testimony, the defense still managed to muddle the evidence and Casey is free because of it. Job well done, George! Take a bow, Cindy!

There have been other rumors swirling about. A recent one was that Cindy was spotted in a community where Casey had been seen, but once again, I have no proof. The problem I have with this sort of rumor is that no one has produced a photograph of the grieving grandmother, especially when smartphones with cameras are everywhere today. To be succinct, George and Cindy have been conspicuously absent lately. There are no Kodak moments. I say, if the present mimics the past, it could mean that George and Cindy are up to no good. Somewhere.

The person who told me about the website also wondered about the house on Hopespring Drive; that it looks vacant, but of all the visits I’ve made in that neck of the woods, it’s looked empty for a long time, even when I’ve known they were home. Just to be sure, I’ll probably take a ride down there to check it out one of these days, but in the meantime, can anyone explain why the charity site has been suspended? What was it, a misappropriation of funds? Caught red-handed?

Disclaimer: Of course, all of this is pure conjecture on my part. }}}wink wink{{{

ADDENDUM 10:00 PM:

Look here and see that this one has disappeared, too:

CAYLEEMARIEANTHONYFOUNDATION

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Zenaida's Trial Against Casey Postponed

ORDER GRANTING RENEWED MOTION TO CONTINUE TRIAL

Patience is a virtue, and we certainly did learn that from all of the postponements in Casey Anthony’s criminal trial. This time, with regard to the Zenaida Gonzalez (Plaintiff) v. Casey Anthony (Defendant) civil trial, Ninth Circuit Court Judge Lisa T. Munyon chose to postpone it until January 2, 2013. This trial had been postponed in the past for several reasons, all stemming from motions filed by the defense, but this time, both sides agreed that one more postponement was necessary. Why?

Let’s start with the basics, beginning with what’s been going on since the start of the new year. On February 29, the defense made a request to continue the trial date by filing a motion to Abate Trial Deadlines. A continuance means to postpone a date set by the court. Last week, on March 6, the judge heard the motion and the plaintiff’s objection to the continuance. Zenaida and her team of lawyers were ready to go to trial. After hearing from both sides, Judge Munyon chose to deny the defense motion that day. Jury selection was scheduled to start on April 10, 2012, with the trial slated to begin the following week in the same courtroom as the criminal trial. That would be Courtroom 23.

All honky dory, right? No, because on March 9, Zenaida’s attorneys filed a Notice of Conflict stating that they were scheduled to be in a Duval County courtroom trying other civil matters beginning on April 9. Their reasoning was solid. The Duval court scheduled that trial date before Munyon set this trial date in September of 2011. Munyon chose to go with what court had precedence. Since Duval set the date first, Orange/Osceola would have to wait. (See: Florida Rules 2.550(a)(6) - The case in which the trial date has been first set generally should take precedence.)

There’s more to it than just that, though. Judge Munyon could have ignored the request had the costs of rescheduling been too much of a burden on Florida taxpayers. After consulting with court representatives and the sheriff’s office, the grand total for a continuance would come to a mere $157.00, and that includes additional summonses to prospective jurors, printing, sorting, and mailing fees. Lest you think that’s all there is, guess again. Judge Munyon wasn’t able to secure Courtroom 23 for the week of April 10, and what that translates into is that the cost to the sheriff’s office for additional security would exceed the costs expended for the summonses. That’s because there are three other courtrooms on that floor, meaning the potential for a lot of people milling around. Okay, fine, but why so long of a postponement? It’s because Courtroom 23, the only courtroom on that floor, is in use. January 2, 2013 is the earliest time it will be available for two consecutive weeks.

So, what we have ahead of us are deadline adjustments originally set on September 1, 2011. We’re talking about 8+ months in the future now. The judge did set a two-week deadline from the date of her order (March 13) to file any notices of conflict for the new trial date. There is a hearing scheduled for March 23. The judge ordered that it remain on the docket and limited the proceeding to motions for summary judgment and all matters related to discovery, such as Gonzalez’s request for Anthony’s residential address. A motion for summary judgment, in this case, means the motion the defense filed to have the case against Anthony thrown out.

As far as I’m concerned, we should be used to it. After three years, plus this mess, we should know by now not to hold our breath. If you think this will ever end, guess again. This time it was the plaintiff’s request that did the trick.

My Trip to Gainesville, Part 3

 CROSS CREEK

Cross Creek was home to Pulitzer Prize winning author Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings for 25 years, from 1928 until her death in 1953. It’s an enchanting little hamlet you could easily picture in your head; a picturesque place with a babbling brook and quaint bridge that spans it. There’s none of the clutter you’d expect from a large town — no traffic lights, no horns blaring, and nothing to hear other than the faint sounds of birds cheerfully chirping in nearby trees. Yes, that would be a very good description. It’s a secluded community that epitomizes Old Florida. This year, though, there’s no babble in the brook that separates Orange Lake from Little Lochloosa Lake. A dry winter is to blame. Not long ago, down at th’ crick, you could catch a cooter wit a cane pole.

Of her adopted town, Rawlings often wrote of the harmony between the wind and rain, the sun and seasons, the seeds and, above all else, time. Once you enter Cross Creek, you become a part of its mystique. There’s a feeling of calm that fills the heart and you’re beckoned back to an era of bygone years, listening to Bing Crosby on an RCA Gramophone instead of Kanye West on an iPod; when the country doctor still made house calls and he’d gladly take a freshly baked pecan pie as payment. Those were the days…

Most of Rawlings’ work centered around rural central and north Florida, including Cross Creek, and in 1938, she found immense success with The Yearling, the story of a boy, his pet deer and his relationship with his father. Until it was published, most literary critics considered her to be a regional writer, but she disagreed. There’s more to writing than that. “Don’t make a novel about them unless they have a larger meaning than just quaintness.”

Rawlings grew up in the Brookland section of Washington, DC, and attended the University of Wisconsin, but years of living in Cross Creek transformed her. She felt a profound connection to the area and the land. While the locals were wary at first, they soon warmed up and told stories of their own experiences, which she diligently wrote down in notebook after notebook, along with descriptions of plants and animals, recipes, and examples of southern dialects.

The following 2 pictures are of Rawling’s house.

While doing research for The Yearling, Rawlings went into nearby scrub forests and spent several weeks with a Florida Cracker, hunting, fishing, and going on a couple of bear hunts. She convinced him that she was interested in the old customs, which was the truth. Trust me, you will never win over a Cracker by lying, and you cannot be a cracker unless you was born in the state. Crackers either accept you or they don’t and there ain’t no in between.

According to Elizabeth Silverthorne, who wrote Rawlings’ biography Sojourner at Cross Creek, Rawlings received the acceptance of her neighbors because she learned quickly about their system of morals and values. For instance, neighbors helped pick pecans from her trees in exchange for enough of the crop to last them through the winter. She became interweaved with local folks.

In every small town, you’ll find neighbors who gaze out front windows through cracks in the curtains to see what others in the community are doing. Cross Creek was no different during Rawlings’ time. Interestingly, she based a lot of her fictional characters on people who lived in the town and surrounding areas, and because of it, resentments arose, despite the fact that she never once used anyone’s full name.

Zelma Cason was, at one time, a very close friend of the author’s and her first in Cross Creek.  She was, that is, until she felt the sting of Rawlings’ pen in a portrayal of her in the book Cross Creek:

“Zelma is an ageless spinster resembling an angry and efficient canary. She manages her orange grove and as much of the village a county as needs management or will submit to it. I cannot decide whether she should have been a man or a mother. She combines the more violent characteristics of both and those who ask for or accept her ministrations think nothing at being cursed loudly at the very instant of being tenderly fed, clothed, nursed, or guided through their troubles.”

Cason took offense, so in 1943 she sued Rawlings for $100,000 for invasion of privacy. The trial became a spectacle as the struggle between the right of privacy and free speech ensued in open court, with Cason arguing that Rawlings did not have the right to publish a description of her without permission, and Rawlings countering with free speech. Interestingly, no Florida court had ever heard an invasion of privacy case prior to this one, and laws on libel were too ambiguous in those days. (Florida started its tradition of openness back in 1909 with the passage of Chapter 119 of the Florida Statutes or the Public Records Law.) 

Cason’s attorney, Kate Walton, was one of the first females to represent a client during a time when women weren’t allowed to serve on juries in the state. Sigsby Scruggs was a well-known, crafty, cracker attorney hired by Rawlings, along with Jacksonville attorney Philip May. As much as we watched the Casey Anthony trial unfold during the course of three years, the world’s eyes were on the little Florida town of Cross Creek while WWII raged on. Rawlings’ husband at the time and until her death was Norton Baskin. “I haven’t seen people around here so stirred up about anything since that two-headed calf was born over to Island Grove,” he said. [1]

From The St. Augustine Record, Monday, April 19, 2010:

The trial, held in Gainesville, drew state reporters and noisy crowds. The original trial and the appeals that followed took several years.

In the end it was a “bloody stalemate,” writes Townsend. [Billy Townsend’s great-aunt is the late Kate Walton.]

The jury in Alachua County stood by Rawlings and “laughed Zelma and Aunt Katie and J.V. out of court. It took them 28 minutes to find for Marjorie.”

But in 1947 the Florida Supreme Court overturned the verdict. It “both established the right of privacy exists in Florida and proved that Marjorie invaded Zelma’s privacy in ‘Cross Creek,’” he writes.

But the court limited damages to $1 plus attorney fees. Zelma had been “wronged, but not harmed.”

Cason couldn’t prove she’d suffered mental anguish or that Rawlings acted with malice. Rawlings failed to convince the judges that they were harming an author’s ability to write.

“They both thought they had lost,” Townsend said.

Before they died, Cason and Rawlings became friends of sorts once again.

Cason claimed that the lawyers made her do it. Townsend thinks Cason came to Kate Walton to start the suit rather than lawyers approaching her. But, now, all the people who knew for sure are gone.

As we looked over part of Rawlings’ property, Nika1 informed me that she was supposed to be buried in a different cemetery when she died, but in a twist of irony, there was a mix up and she ended up in the same cemetery as her one-time friend, Zelma, who had bought plots there earlier. When Cason died in 1963, she was buried 50 feet away from Rawlings. Quite literally, they followed each other to their graves. 

It was now after 5:00 pm in Cross Creek, and as the lesson in history wound down and the sun edged closer to the horizon, Nika1 and I realized it was time to eat, and reservations had already been made at The Yearling Restaurant, a stone’s throw from Rawlings’ house. From the outside, the restaurant isn’t anything fancy to look at. As a matter of fact, there’s nothing at all pretentious about it. Looking at it from the front, it doesn’t look very big, either, but once you get inside, it’s almost cavernous. Our host led us to a good-sized back room where, later, two musicians sang and played their instruments. Our waitress for the evening was a delightful young lady named Leslie. You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten fried green tomatoes, and there are none finer than what we were served. For entrees, Nika1 ordered fried fish and I got fried gator tail. Yes, you heard that right. I had eaten it before, but none was as tender as this go around.

When you’re inside the restaurant, it’s really a cozy, homey kind of place. It’s precisely what you’d expect in Cross Creek — comfort food, and I must say, the sour orange pie for dessert was fantastic!

While we sat waiting for our food, we talked about the area; not just Cross Creek, but also about Alachua County, including where Nika1 resides. It’s amazing how many people know each other even when they live 20 miles apart. It’s a close-knit community, so when she told me the story about the history of the restaurant and one of the area’s most colorful gentlemen, I found myself captivated by what she was saying. One of her close neighbors was characterized in The Yearling. In the book, he was the crippled boy. In real life, his name is J.T. Glisson, but once you know him, his name is Jake. When the original owners opened the restaurant in 1952, they commissioned Jake to paint a picture of a yearling — one that could have been the one portrayed in the book. He did, and there it hung for 40 years. The original owners closed the restaurant in 1992 and it reopened in 2002 under new ownership. When it closed in 1992, Jake asked if he could get his painting back. The owner honored his request, and today, it proudly hangs in Nika1’s house.

Jake is in his 80s now, but he’s not just a painter, he’s an author; a writer of books. I think there’s something in the air up there in Alachua County. I sense it’s where a lot of creative juices flow, and they once babbled through Cross Creek. The world is a wonderful place, and the legacy of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings lives on. Why? Because she didn’t just write The Yearling, she lived it…

“Enchantment lies in different things for each of us. For me, it is in this: to step out of the bright sunlight into the shade of orange trees; to walk under the arched canopy of their jade like leaves; to see the long aisles of lichened trunks stretch ahead in a geometric rhythm; to feel the mystery of a seclusion that yet has shafts of light striking through it. This is the essence of an ancient and secret magic.”

— Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings

(See: The Yearling, a 1946 movie starring Gergory Peck and Jane Wyman)

Next: My Trip to Gainesville, Part 4 — Micanopy, the oldest inland town in Florida.

My Trip to Gainesville, Part 2

This is a rather long article. I think the best way to handle it would be to continue publishing it in sections, so today will be Part 2, and it will cover my thoughts on the Old South and Old Florida, and the land where Nika1 lives. The next part, already written, will cover Cross Creek, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, and The Yearling Restaurant, where we ate dinner. The final part will be about another piece of Florida history, and the community, named for a Seminole Indian chief, that is believed to be the oldest inland town in the state.

OLD SOUTH/OLD FLORIDA

When I moved to Florida from New Jersey in 1981, I must admit that I brought some of my Yankee prejudices with me. To be honest, I never looked at southerners with disdain, nor did I see them as intellectually inferior because of their funny sounding dialects — funny to me, anyway — but let’s just say I was a little apprehensive because I was quite aware of their convoluted hatred for people of a different color, not to mention their resentment toward northerners. Of course, I didn’t expect everyone south of the Mason-Dixon Line to feel that way, and they don’t, but it wasn’t all that many years before I moved here that “coloreds” used different drinking fountains and bathrooms in many of those one-time Confederate states; Florida included. Even when I made my migration south, there were lingering reminders of inequality in places such as abandoned gas stations. Cobwebbed signs remained attached to bathroom doors as testaments to what they once proclaimed: WHITES ONLY. Like the old saying goes, we’ve come a long way, Baby, and so have I.

During my 31 years of living in Florida, I have embraced the South, but it has absolutely nothing to do with its racist past. It’s because of its rich history, steeped in genteel southern mannerisms; of virtuous young men politely courting delightfully flirtatious belles of innocence — patiently waiting for their coming of age — as they are introduced into the upper echelons of society. It was a romantic time, and in this respect, the South continues to maintain a unique essence of bygone days, deeply etched into it’s very heart and soul. But it’s fading fast in many areas, like Orlando, where fragrant foliage is ever replaced by the harsh realities of freshly poured asphalt and concrete, and fauna is pushed to the outer edges of what was once theirs with each passing breath. (I strongly encourage you to read: Beth Kassab: The Senator victim of Florida’s long history of neglect, Orlando Sentinel, Feb. 29, 2012)

Fortunately, pockets of the Old South continue to thrive, and throughout, you’ll find many notable plantations with antebellum homes, some still privately maintained, and others turned into historical landmarks or bed & breakfast inns. There are many towns and cities that thrive on their heritage, like Savannah, Charleston and Natchez. You’ll also find vast tracts of land that are, to this day, owned by the same families the properties were deeded to many years ago. In Florida, a lot of that land still thrives with citrus groves as far as the eye can see, and beef cattle grazing on the open range. Yes, much of it has been sold off, sometimes because of hard freezes, and other times over greed; but Florida is a good-sized state and there’s still plenty of private, pristine land around whose owners are proud of their history. They are proud to carry and pass the torches to future generations, just like it’s always been.

When I made my trek to the Gainesville area last month, I knew I was in for a special treat — one that epitomizes what I consider to be Old Florida. Of utmost importance, though, was that I would be spending time with Nika1, a lovely friend and host. Secondly, I would be visiting the town she lives in; truly a place I have a great appreciation for. I had been there once before. Also, she promised to take me to Cross Creek, and if you’re not familiar with it, it’s the little community where Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings lived for 25-years and wrote her Pulitzer prize-winning novel The Yearling. Her cracker-style home looks just like it did when she lived there in the 1930s. We were also going to have dinner at the adjacent restaurant, aptly named The Yearling Restaurant.

THE HOMESTEAD

I arrived at her homestead at 11:02 am, two minutes late. I hate that. We had a Gator basketball game to attend first, and that was most pressing, so off to O’Connell Center we went. I did a write-up on that leg of my trip in Part 1. When the game ended, we had plenty of time to spend before heading over to Cross Creek, so she took me to her old haunts, including the family farm. It goes without saying that she grew up in the house she still lives in, and it was built by her family in 1892. Trust me when I say there’s a lot of history in that home, and the interior is a testament to that.

With a moo moo here and a moo moo there, Nika1 raises beef cattle. EIEIO. If you look at the banner atop this website, those are her cows, and there are lots more where they came from, plus plenty of acreage, which you cannot fully comprehend by the images below.

I spent many years of my youth living on farms, and while some of you may find this somewhat odd, I truly enjoyed the smell of fresh grass and cow manure that wafted through the air that day. It brought back fond memories that dated back to my preteen and early teen years. It also reminded me not to step in it.

As we were leaving, an SUV pulled alongside us and Nika1 exchanged a few friendly words with the occupants about Indian digs on her property, most likely Timucua. Two mounds, to be precise. One is a burial mound and the other is ceremonial, meaning it’s a trove of pottery and other treasures offered to their gods. Both are ancient. Anthropologists from the University of Florida are carefully collecting the relics. Nika1 has discovered many arrowheads on her property over the years; some in the field across the street from her front yard. The area is rich in native American history, and that is of special interest to me. In the near future, I will publish another article on an Indian mound much closer to home, in Sanford, FL. I still have to “dig” for more information. But first, I’ve got two more parts of this story to go.

Next up: Cross Creek and how it impacted the area. Here is an excerpt from Part 3:

Cross Creek is one of those places you could pretty much conjure up in your head. You’d expect there to be a creek and bridge, of course, and not much else, and you’d be pretty much right. It’s a very small community, somewhat secluded, and above all else, a place that epitomizes Old Florida. Of her town, Rawlings wrote about the harmony of the wind and rain, the sun and seasons, the seeds and, above all else, time. Once you enter Cross Creek, you become a part of the mystery, the passion, and the oneness; and for a brief moment of eternity, time stands still. If there were ever a place on earth that beckons a creative mind, this is it.

HELP FIND FRANCO GARCIA!

UPDATE April 12: Sadly, Franco’s body was found today in the reservoir between the bar, Mary Ann’s, where Garcia was last seen, and the Boston College campus, where he had planned to stay in a friend’s dorm the night he disappeared.

Franco is a student at Boston College. So is Bruce Springsteen’s son. Some of Franco’s friends got in touch with his son and this is what Bruce put up:

From Bruce Springsteen’s Facebook page:

Help find missing Boston College student Franco Garcia. Franco is 21 years old, 5’9”, approximately 200 lbs, and was last seen wearing a long-sleeved white and blue striped shirt with jeans on February 22, 2012, around 12:15 am at Mary Ann’s Bar in Brighton, MA. Please call the Newton Police Department with any information: 617-796-2100