Following the yellow brick road

Carl Fismer, a world-renowned treasure diver and shipwreck expert, donated a simple yet fascinating artifact to the Key West Shipwreck Treasures Museum. That artifact, from a wreck he discovered near Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas, was a brick. Plain-looking and showing signs of age and wear after spending over a century underwater, this particular brick (above top)nonetheless had a story to tell.

Fort Jefferson, situated on Garden Key - 68 miles from Key West, is a Civil War-era coastal defense fortress. Said to be the largest masonry structure in the Western Hemisphere, there were over 16,000,000 bricks used in its construction. Work on the fort began in 1846 and continued for 30 years, though changes in weapon technology (most specifically the rifled cannon) rendered it obsolete and it was never completed. Following the Civil War, the fort was used primarily as a prison, housing just over 500 prisoners (mostly deserters) including Dr. Samuel Mudd and 3 other men convicted of participation in the Lincoln assassination.

About a mile southwest of the fort near Bird Key in six feet of water lies the “Brick Wreck” (also known as the “Bird Key Wreck”). The “Brick Wreck” is believed to be the remains of the Scottish Chief or another of the ships employed by Asa & Nelson Tift to transport bricks from Pensacola for the fort’s construction in 1854. The Army Corp of Engineers had determined that the yellow bricks made in western Florida were better suited to the region than those imported from the north. The shipping contract was likely granted to the Tift brothers based on their experience navigating the area’s treacherous reefs and shoals as veterans of the local wrecking industry. The 4-bladed prop (above lower) of the shallow draft 126-foot steamer is still intact as well along with portions of the hull. Dated bricks from the ship’s firebox place the wreck between 1857 and 1861.


The brick we were given by “Fizz” bears the impression “BC. WILLIS P.F.B”. A bit of historic detective work has shown this brick to have originated in Pensacola at a brick factory owned by Colonel Byrd Charles Willis, with “P.F.B.” presumably indicating “Pensacola Florida Brickworks”.

Byrd C. Willis was born in Fredericksburg, Virginia in 1781. His grandfather, Colonel Henry Willis, was married to George Washington’s aunt and his father, Lewis Willis, was a schoolmate of the future father of our country. In 1800, Byrd C. Willis married Mary Lewis, whose father was George Washington’s nephew.

Willis served with Madison’s 1st Brigade in the Virginia Militia during the War of 1812, distinguishing himself and attaining the rank of colonel. In 1825 he received an appointment from President Andrew Jackson to oversee federal matters in the newly-acquired territory of Florida. He established a brickworks in Pensacola, ostensibly to help meet the massive demand for bricks in the construction of coastal fortifications.

Colonel Byrd C. Willis had six children. His oldest daughter, Catherine, was married and widowed at an early age. She chose to join her parents in Florida where she met a young French naturalist named Achille Murat. Achille Charles Louis Napoléon Murat (shown below) was the former Prince of Naples and the nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte. The two fell in love and were soon married. While both the Murat and Bonaparte families initially objected to the marriage as the bride was both American and a widow, they were soon swayed by the revelation that Catherine Willis Gray was the grand-niece of the great George Washington.

The two made their home in Florida but traveled the world together, enjoying royal treatment wherever they went. Catherine became known as the Princess Murat. She was present at the coronation of William IV of the United Kingdom and was given a seat in Westminster Abbey. Following the overthrow of Charles X of France in 1830, the Prince attempted to regain a portion of his family fortune. When this failed, the two returned to Florida in 1834.

Following Prince Achille’s death in 1847, Catherine moved to a spartan bungalow near Tallahassee known as Bellevue (today a part of the Tallahassee Museum). It was from here that she dedicated her days to the nation’s first successful historic preservation effort; the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association – devoted to the conservation of George Washington’s home in Virginia. She died at Bellevue in 1867.

Greatest Fire on Earth

On this day in 1865, P.T. Barnum’s American Museum was destroyed by a fire of mysterious origin. Located in Manhattan at the intersection of Broadway and Ann St., the museum was a spectacular combination of zoo, lecture hall, wax museum, theater and freak show with exhibits ranging from live beluga whales to the singing and dancing of General Tom Thumb (lower right). At its peak, the museum is said to have sold as many as 15,000 admissions a day, remaining open for 15 hours at a time.

Previous to the July 13th fire, the museum had fallen prey to arson on November 24th, 1864. Confederate sabateurs, intending to avenge the destruction perpetrated by Sherman and his troops throughout Georgia, coordinated over a dozen simultaneous terrorist attacks by fire throughout Manhattan. Initially intending to target government buildings, this plan was found to be impractical due to the heavy presence of Union troops around these structures. The arsonists instead chose to burn New York's most prominent hotels. Despite their use of a crude version of "Greek Fire" as an accelerant, most of the fires were extinguished before causing any significant damage. The would-be firebugs locked doors and windows to the rooms they set ablaze to prevent early discovery but in doing so deprived their incendiary offspring of the nourishing oxygen they would need to grow to maturity.

While the Barnum Museum was not among the list of targets, Confederate agent Captain Robert Cobb Kennedy tossed a bottle of the flaming accelerant into the museum's stairwell on his way between hotels because he believed it would be, in his words, "fun to start a scare". Kennedy was later captured and hanged for spying and "violation of the laws of war" on March 25th, 1865.

Fall of Forty Fort

On this day in 1778, a battle and ensuing massacre took place in the Wyoming valley of Pennsylvania near present-day Scranton and Wilkes-Barre. Jurisdiction of the region, while located in Pennsylvania, was claimed nearby Connecticut; with the local militiamen serving in the Connecticut Continental regiments. Considered a strategically desirable area owing to its liberal production of grain and proximity to nearby centers of population via the Susquehanna River, it was the intention of British Loyalists to seize control of it.

Under the direction of New York Tory Major John Butler, bands of Iroquois warriors had been waging a hit-and-run war on the local settlers, driving them to seek safety in any of the several forts in the area. In late June, Major Butler launched an offensive to capture the forts and claim the region for the crown. He led a force of approximately six hundred Iroquois braves and one hundred loyalist soldiers down the river into the valley.

Butler had conspired with local Tories to arrive undetected and easily captured several of the poorly defended garrisons. On the morning of July 3rd, Butler demanded the surrender of all remaining forts and Continental troops.

Knowing that re-enforcements were due any day, the Americans consolidated their force around Forty Fort - named for the first forty settlers from Connecticut who built it. Forty Fort was held by the Kingston Company (44 men) commanded by Captain Aholiab Buck and the Shawnee Company (44 men)commanded by Captain Asaph Whittlesey, with the combined forces numbering approximately 375.

Irritated by the lack of response to the ultimatum, the Loyalists began burning the strongholds they had captured. The Americans, mistaking this for a sign of retreat, gave the order to advance. When it became clear that the Loyalists had no intention of relinquishing their hold on the valley, the American commanders, Colonels Nathan Denison and Zebulon Butler (no relation) chose to hold a defensive position about a mile from the enemy. Dissention in the ranks of the untrained militia grew to a fever pitch with accusations of cowardice hurled at both colonels. They gave in to the pressure and agreed to attack Major Butler’s superior force.

The battle is said to have lasted less than three quarters of an hour (44 minutes) with massive casualties on the American side. Flanked by Iroquois concealed in a swampy area known as “the Shades of Death”, the American line quickly broke and fleeing militiamen were butchered by the brutal warriors. Major Butler reported that the Indians under his command took a total of 227 scalps and that while non-combatants remained unmolested, all others were “given no quarter”.

The formal surrender of Forty Fort took place the following day, with Major Butler requesting that the seven barrels of whiskey remaining among the fort’s supplies be destroyed before the Iroquois took possession of it.

Stories of the patriots slaughtered by treacherous Tories and their godless, savage lackeys circulated throughout the embattled colonies – stirring up sympathy and inciting unbridled rage toward the dastardly Loyalists.

Scottish poet Thomas Campbell, inspired by the dramatic tale of the battle, commemorated the event in his epic poem Gertrude of Wyoming in 1809. It is believed that the poem’s popularity in the 1800’s resulted in the naming of our 44th state (Wyoming) in 1890.

" A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun,
And blended arms, and white pavilions glow;
And for the business of destruction done,
Its requiem the war-horn seem'd to blow:
There, sad spectatress of her country's wo!
The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm,
Had laid her cheek, and clasp'd her hands of snow
Enclosed, that felt her heart, and hush'd its wild alarm!"

- from Gertrude of Wyoming

No. 3

On a recent exploration of Delray Beach it was my intention to locate the site of the Orange Grove House of Refuge. Numerous inquiries proved fruitless (pun intended). Even a visit to the local Chamber of Commerce yielded only a helpless shrug. When asked exactly what the House of Refuge was, I explained that it was the first permanent structure built at Delray Beach and had stood watchfully on their waterfront from the time of its construction in 1876 until it was destroyed by fire in 1927. I had assumed it would have rather legendary status in their somewhat limited local lore.

The woman behind the desk, explaining that she only lived there part of the year, suggested I peruse a children’s book on local history in the waiting area for information as it was “the only book on Delray Beach history” they had there. As I opened the book’s cover, a three-dimensional model of the Orange Grove House of Refuge sprang from its pages. “This is it” I stated while displaying the miniature bungalow for my official greeter - who smiled wanly before inquiring “Does it say where it is?”

It did not.

A Google search via my phone yielded a newspaper article concerning the placement of a Historic Marker plaque which gave the names of intersecting streets at the site. My hostess was again unable to assist me with even so much as a broad gesture in a general direction as she was unfamiliar with one of the streets. Throwing all caution to the wind, I set off on my own – determined to find my way by instinct, guile and dead reckoning.

Military maps dating to the time of the 2nd Seminole War identify the region as the Orange Grove Haulover – referencing an ancient copse of sour orange and other citrus trees along with the area’s shallow topography which required boats to be portaged, or “hauled over”, at that location.

In 1868, Wisconsin native and lieutenant Governor of Florida William Gleason began buying thousands of acres of land, including the area now known as Delray Beach – anticipating the development that would occur toward the turn of the century.

Shipping traffic along the Florida coast increased exponentially throughout the 19th Century and with it the number of ships that wrecked on the reefs hiding beneath the waves. While the system of lighthouses and reef lights was firmly in place by the mid-1850’s, there were still vast expanses of uninhabited and unlit coastline. Shipwreck survivors lucky enough to make it to shore were veritable castaways in the isolated swampy wilderness with no access to food, shelter or fresh water.

Following a 1873 New York newspaper account of the hardships suffered by the crew of a ship wrecked between Biscayne Bay and New River, the U.S. Life-Saving Service ordered the construction of five “houses of refuge” along Florida’s Atlantic coastline.

The houses, numbered 1 through 5, were unique to Florida. Framed with solid 8 x 8 pine timbers, they were intended to withstand hurricanes – though several would succumb to this force of nature over the years. Each had a ground floor of four rooms providing a living quarters for the keeper and his family. The upper level was an airy dormitory that would sleep up to 20, fully stocked with dried foods, salted meats, and medical supplies. A wide verandah circled the entire structure and the long, sloping roof extended far enough to shade the entire porch and keep the house cool.

No. 3, the Orange Grove House of Refuge, was finished in 1876 and Capt. H.D. Pierce was hired as its first keeper at meager fee of $400 a year. As a young man, Capt. Pierce had been rescued by townspeople from the wreck of the Three Charlies on Lake Michigan near Waukegan, Illinois. He and other survivors were given shelter by local citizens. While recuperating at the home of Mr. James Moore, Capt. Pierce was introduced to Moore’s daughter Margretta whom he would marry a short time later.

In 1894, William Linton, a postmaster from Saginaw, Michigan, purchased the area and founded a small farming community named for himself. Linton supplied winter produce to northern cities via Flagler's East Coast Railway until a hard freeze destroyed the crops in 1898. Linton and most of the other residents gave up and abandoned the village. Those who remained changed its name to Delray, celebrating the victory by U.S. troops at the Battle of Molino Del Rey (pictured below) during the Mexican-American conflict.



When I arrived at the intersection of Ocean Boulevard and Bay Street , I discovered that the marker in question concerned itself with the dedication of the beach by Mr. Gleason's wife Sarah and friends in 1899. It did, however, make reference to the House of Refuge and the location of its marker (north of Atlantic Avenue). I also spotted another marker telling the story of the Delray Wreck a short distance away, though I will save this for a future entry.

"Did I do my best?"

While writing my entry concerning the Deering Library at Northwestern University, a shipwreck tragedy that occurred near that campus was brought to mind. The story strikes a particularly resonant chord with me, not only as a Wisconsin native but also as a former resident of Chicago’s north suburbs where I grew up splashing about in Lake Michigan’s icy surf.

On the night of September 6th, 1860, the paddlewheel steamer Lady Elgin left Milwaukee for nearby Chicago. The ship was carrying over 400 passengers (by some accounts nearly 700)– primarily members of Milwaukee’s largely Irish Union Guard Militia – headed for a Democratic Party fundraiser where presidential hopeful Stephen Douglas would be speaking.

Following the event, the Lady Elgin disembarked for her return voyage around 11:30 p.m. Most passengers retired immediately to their cabins but others remained in the ballroom, dancing to the music of a German band at the front of the ship. The weather grew increasing foul as the ship slowly made its way back to port in Wisconsin. By midnight, gale force winds were blowing and Lake Michigan had grown treacherous.

At approximately 2:30 a.m., the ship lurched violently at it was struck by a 129 ft. clipper ship. The Augusta of Oswego, was a 266 ton, 2-masted schooner fully-loaded with lumber. The Augusta had been flying too much sail and was out of control. The cargo had shifted, causing the ship to list and the crew was fighting to right her when they spotted the lights of the Lady Elgin.

In the confusion of the storm and impending collision, the captain failed to issue an order to turn until it was too late. The Augusta’s bowsprit impaled the Lady Elgin, piercing the hull just behind the portside paddlewheel. The Lady Elgin was moving swiftly and dragged the schooner a short distance before the forward motion levered the Augusta’s nose free, wrenching the wheel from its axle and tearing a huge hole in the Lady Elgin’s portside.

The Augusta was badly damaged and taking on water. Assuming the Lady Elgin had suffered little, if any, damage from what he believed to have been a glancing blow, Captain Malott sped from the wrecksite and made for the nearest port. Meanwhile, the Lady Elgin was sinking fast and beginning to break apart.

Captain Wilson and the crew ran through the ship trying to wake sleeping passengers. Amid the chaos, a lifeboat was launched without oars or a securing line and quickly drifted away in the storm with only the First Mate and a few other crewmen aboard. The second leaked so badly it was abandoned. The Lady Elgin was sinking stern first and the rush of air toward the bow as she tilted caused the forward steamworks to explode. The ship disappeared beneath the crashing waves less than twenty minutes later.

Survivors clung to pieces of the deck and other bits of floating debris while a thunderstorm raged in the skies above – illuminating the desperate scene with flashes of lightning. The collision took place about seven miles from shore and an estimated half of the passengers were able to ride their makeshift rafts to shallow waters. Charles Beverung, the drummer of the German band, managed to float ashore clinging to his bass drum.

The lifeboat drifted ashore at Hubbard Woods near Winnetka and the First Mate, after scaling a tall bluff at the water’s edge, was able to report the disaster and set rescue efforts in motion.

As daylight broke, students from nearby Northwestern University arrived at the scene to pull exhausted survivors from the ferocious breakers pounding the shoreline. Edward Spencer, a seminary student at the Garrett Bible Institute on the NU campus was noted for exceptional heroism during the rescue efforts. He and his fellow seminarians worked tirelessly to save as many lives as possible. Spencer plunged repeatedly into the raging surf, saving a total of seventeen lives before he collapsed under from the physical and emotional strain of the rescue effort. Upon regaining consciousness, he immediately demanded of the other Samaritans “Did I do my best?”

Captain Wilson, who also demonstrated extraordinary courage in the course of the rescue, was hurled against the rocks by the savage surf. His body was found three days later – almost a hundred miles away - in nearby Indiana. Bodies would continue to wash ashore for months to come.

Spencer died in California at age 81. A local paper recounting the tale alongside his obituary stated that not one of the seventeen individuals he rescued ever bothered to thank him.

Coastal safety became a tradition at Northwestern and in 1876 the Federal government built a lifesaving station near the Grosse Point Lighthouse. It was continuously manned by student volunteers until it was taken over by the Coast Guard in 1916.

Great Lakes historian J.B. Mansfield called the Lady Elgin disaster "one of the greatest marine horrors on record". The tremendous loss of life decimated Milwaukee’s Irish-American population and is largely credited with tipping the balance of that city’s political power in favor of the German-American demographic.

Happy New Year

The last day of April has traditionally been observed by pagan groups, dating back to the days of Viking conquerors, throughout northern and central Europe. Bonfires, believed to drive away dark spirits and celebrate the return of the sun, would illuminate the countryside on what came to be known as Walpurgis Night (coinciding with the Holy Day of Saint Walpurga). In Germany, it was believed that witches held a great Walpurgisnacht Sabbath on the Blocksberg, the tallest mountain peak in the country.

"I am in HELL sir!"

On this day in 1789, Master’s Mate Fletcher Christian led a mutiny aboard the H.M.S. Bounty approximately 1,300 miles from Tahiti. Christian and the crew had broken under the weight of what they perceived as Captain Bligh’s increasingly cruel, unpredictable and erratic command. A close friend of Bligh’s prior to the voyage, the tortured Christian is said to have exclaimed “I am in HELL sir!” while arguing with Bligh upon seizing control of the ship. Captain Bligh and 18 loyal crewmen were set adrift in one of the Bounty’s tiny lifeboats near the island of Tofua. There can be no greater testimony to Bligh’s seamanship than the lifeboat’s safe arrival in Kupang, over 3,600 nautical miles away, some 47 days later.

The Shores of Tripoli

On this day in 1805, U.S. forces attacked the city of Derne on the Barbary Coast – constituting the first act of war by American soldiers on foreign soil. The First Barbary War, as it was later called, began in response to demands of monetary tribute from U.S. ships in the Mediterranean by various rulers and their pirate emissaries in the Ottoman empire.

In 1803, the U.S. had initiated a somewhat symbolic one-ship blockade of the Tripolitan harbor when said ship, the U.S.S. Philadelphia, ran aground on a reef while chasing a pirate vessel into port.
The ship’s captain, William Bainbridge, chose not to solicit the opinions of his more seasoned officers, leftenant David Porter among them, on how best to extricate the Philadelphia from its grounding. Instead, he ordered full sail, resulting in the ship running up further onto the reef to a seemingly hopeless position.

Bainbridge was infamous for his arrogance and aloofness – so much so that a crewman’s journal noted that he stood a better chance of an audience with then president Thomas Jefferson than of receiving a simple greeting from his captain. Not only did Bainbridge hold the dubious honor of having been the first United States Navy captain to surrender a ship, the Retaliation during the quasi-war with France, but his panicked response to the grounding of the Philadelphia would result in him becoming the second as well.

Fearing that he and his men would be cut to pieces like sitting ducks, Bainbridge immediately struck the ship’s colors and ordered the crew to abandon ship. That evening, now prisoners of the Pashah Yussif Karamanli, they watched their ship float easily free of the reef as the tide came in. Had the only held their position aboard the Philadelphia, with its vastly superior firepower, they would have sailed to safety a few short hours later. They would remained imprisoned in Tripoli for the next 2 years.

Stephen Decatur (lower left), a brash young naval officer in command of the U.S.S. Enterprise swore an oath that the captured Philadelphia should never fire a shot at an American ship and devised a plan to destroy it. Disguised as pirates from nearby Malta, Decatur and his crew sailed stealthily into the port at Tripoli. Once alongside the Philadelphia, they silently overtook its pirate captors – slitting throats, slashing & skewering with sabers – and set the ship on fire. The Philadelphia was immediately engulfed in flames - a floating inferno wreaking havoc and setting ablaze many pirate vessels anchored throughout the crowded harbor. Decatur and his small squadron of sabateurs escaped without losing a single man. British Admiral Horatio Nelson referred to Decatur’s seemingly suicidal mission to destroy the Philadelphia as “the most bold and daring act of the Age”.

General William Eaton (upper left), cut from the same cloth as Decatur, proposed that the U.S. seize the nearby and more poorly defended city of Derne in order to create a base from which they could wage a land-based assault on Tripoli - thereby winning the freedom of the American hostages.

He enlisted the aid of Yussif's exiled brother Hamet, who commanded a significant force of muslim rebels, and together they successfully captured Derne. Eaton demonstrated extraordinary leadership and bravery - personally leading the charge that resulted in the capture of the fortress. Shortly thereafter, the American flag was raised in victory for the first time on foreign soil. 14 U.S. Marines participated in the battle, insipiring the line "to the shores of Tripoli" in the Marines' Hymn. Eaton was injured during the battle, taking a musketball through his wrist. He field-dressed the wound and soldiered on, driving the enemy from the city by reversing the cannons of the fort and bombarding the town with their own artillery.

When Derne was secured, Eaton and his men began their march on Tripoli. Before they had reached the halfway point, they received word that the U.S. consul to the Barbary States had negotiated an accord securing the prisoners' release. The consul's name was Tobias Lear (see Colonel Tobias Lear).

It is believed that Lear received this appointment in exchange for destroying correspondence between George Washington and Thomas Jefferson that would have severely damaged Jefferson's chances of gaining the presidency. Jefferson's motto regarding the Barbary conflicts and the demands of pirate Pashahs was "Millions for defense, not one cent for tribute". Nonetheless, Lear had secretly paid a sum of $60,000 to Yusif for the release of the Philadelphia's crew, as well as making a number of unapproved concessions & compromises that would have never flown had they become public knowledge. Among these was allowing Pashah Yusif to delay the return of his brother Hamet's wife and children, already held hostage for half a decade, for up to another five years.

When Eaton later heard of Lear's unscrupulous activities, he spent the remainder of his life petitioning for the immediate removal of Tobias Lear from any position of authority as well as the return of Hamet's family. While the latter was eventually accomplished, Lear was never taken to task for his dubious dealings. However, Eaton seems to have succeeded in tarnishing Lear's reputation and calling his honor into question to such a great degree that Lear finally committed suicide October 11th, 1816.

Stephen Decatur, equally opinionated, became an extremely vocal critic of James Barron. Decatur had served under Barron on the U.S.S. Norfolk in the quasi-war with France and fought alongside him in the Barbary conflict. When Barron's apparent lack of readiness resulted in the capture of the Chesapeake by the H.M.S. Leopard (resulting in the War of 1812), Decatur served on the court of naval inquiry concerning the incident. While Barron was cleared of charges, Decatur persisted in expressing his negative opinions of the man until he was eventually challenged to a duel.

William Bainbridge, known to have harbored tremendous jealousy and festering resentment toward Decatur, was nonetheless selected by Decatur as his second. Bainbridge not only urged the comsumation of the duel when the men began discussed reconciliation, but went so far as to suggest that Barron be allowed to stand closer due to his poor eyesight. Many, including Decatur's widow who referred to Bainbridge as "one of my husband's murderers", believed that it was this unfair advantage that decided the duel, resulting in Decatur's death.

Most of what I know on this subject I learned from Richard Zacks' excellent and comprehensive book The Pirate Coast: Thomas Jefferson, the First Marines, and the Secret Mission of 1805.

Through the Looking Glass

One of Oklahoma City’s best-kept secrets is the 45th Infantry Museum. Among the relics hidden away in this martial labyrinth are a plethora of souvenirs plundered from various private residences of Adolf Hitler by said Division during the liberation of Germany in 1945. The remarkably plain yet extraordinarily eerie centerpiece of this particular collection is an oval mirror from the bedroom of Hitler’s bunker in Berlin. I couldn’t help but wonder, as I saw myself in the glass, if he had gazed into this mystical pane on the day he committed suicide.

Adolf Hitler was born on this day in Braunau-am-Inn, Austria-Hungary – 120 years ago.

Evil Empire?

On this day in 1995, at 9:02 a.m. Central Standard Time, the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City was destroyed by an act of domestic terrorism. 168 people were killed, ranging in age from 3 months to 73 years old.

The bombing was allegedly perpetrated as an act of protest against the conduct of the federal government in the siege of Randy Weaver’s home at Ruby Ridge, Idaho in August 1992 and a similar standoff at the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas - which ended on this day in that same year. The former resulted in the death of Weaver’s wife and 14-year-old son, while the latter ended in an inferno that consumed the lives of self-styled apocalyptic prophet David Koresh and 75 of his followers.

The Oklahoma City National Memorial opened on October 9, 1997. The largest of its kind in the U.S., the memorial spans 3.3 acres. Bronze arches, known as the “Gates of Time”, marked 9:01 and 9:03, signify the moments of peace before and chaos immediately following the explosion. The reflecting pool , representing the moment of destruction, is an immense abyss created by a thin sheet of water flowing over black granite. The effect is somber and contemplative – even under bright sunshine on an otherwise carefree day.

The other most significant feature of the memorial is the Field of Empty Chairs, with individual bronze chairs crafted for each victim of the attack, including smaller versions for the 19 children killed in the blast. Glass blocks form the base of each chair and are illuminated at night. Overall, the memorial is a powerful cenotaph marking a sad moment in American history.

Timothy McVeigh, convicted and executed for his involvement in the incident, said in reference to the victims of the bombing that “They may be individually innocent, but they are guilty because they work for the Evil Empire." A tragic sentiment when one considers that as Americans, we have not only the right but also the responsibility to voice our dissent and take our leaders to task when our government fails to operate within those parameters proscribed by law. This great nation, our “Empire” as it were, is a direct reflection of those who choose to actively participate in the shaping and molding process. To wage war upon it is simply to attack ourselves.

"That small city close to Bad Schwartau"

While reading Mark Kurlansky’s excellent and informative book Cod: A Biography of the Fish That Changed the World, I first learned about the Hanseatic League - a sort of Teutonic trading guild comprised of seafaring merchants based along the coast of the Baltic and North Seas. While many trace its roots as far back as the mid-12th Century, the Hansa – as it was often referred to – was founded in the German city of Lübeck in 1358. It eventually grew to include well over a hundred cities – dominating the sea trade in northern Europe and Scandinavia for nearly two hundred years. The Hanseatic League employed its own navy and militias, battling pirates and even waging war against Denmark in the 14th Century. League members enjoyed privileges ranging from exclusive trade routes to the waiving of tariffs.

By the late 16th Century, political and economic changes began to erode the Hansa’s strength. Sweden seized control of much of the Baltic, resulting in the Nordic Seven Years War against several of the Hanseatic powers. The humongous Adler von Lübeck, at the time the largest ship in the world, was constructed in an attempt to re-establish Lübeck’s maritime supremacy but it never saw battle as the warring parties had reached an accord by the time it was completed. As some cities grew more independent and German royalty consolidated their influence and authority, the Hansa continued to slowly disintegrate until only three of its primary cities (Bremen, Hamburg, and Lübeck) remained by the time of its demise in 1862.

Lübeck, known as “Queen of the Hansa” during the League’s reign, was later noted for refusing Adolf Hitler permission to speak there in 1932, forcing him to instead to make his campaign speech in the nearby village of Bad Schwartau. From that day forward, Hitler referred to Lübeck as “that small city close to Bad Schwartau”.

Viva La Florida!

Today in the year 1513, Spanish explorer Juan Ponce de Leon became the first European to set foot on what is now known as the state of Florida.

While he is best remembered for his search for the legendary "Fountain of Youth", Ponce de Leon was a prodigious adventurer who discovered many new lands and claimed a variety of territories in the name of Spain.

His final voyage in 1521 brought him back to the southwestern coast of Florida where he intended to found a colony. Ponce de Leon and his entourage encountered hostility from the native Calusa indians and he was struck in the shoulder by a poison arrow. They retreated to Havana, Cuba where he died from the wound a short time later.

A Tale of Two Sisters

Charles Deering had two daughters, Marion Deering McCormick and Barbara Deering Danielson. Marion carried the merging of the Deerings and McCormicks beyond the level of business when she, much to her father's chagrin, became the wife of Chauncey McCormick. The grandson of William S. McCormick (founder of the McCormick Harvesting Machine Company), Chauncey was considered a bit of a playboy and Marion's parents apparently disapproved of their engagement, even denying the veracity of the public announcement. The couple seems, nonetheless, to have eloped; holding a religous ceremony at the Paris residence of her uncle James following a civil union in that city on July 6, 1914.

Chauncey, it was noted in the New York Times' coverage of the wedding (shown in part above), had apparently proved himself worthy by working his way up in the family business from the position of "day laborer". The article also noted that he had not seen his name in print since he was gored by a wild elk on the estate of P.R. Greist while a senior at Yale.

Barbara's nuptuals occured without any documented controversy. She wed Richard Ely Danielson, future editor and publisher of the Atlantic Monthly. He is noted for his affiliation with the Skull & Bone Society (1907), and while other information about him is scarce, his name often appears in association with conspiracy theories, secret societies, the Illuminati, the Rothchilds, etc. - giving him a profoundly more sinister image than that acheived by his brother-in-law's mere rakishness.

The Deering sisters inherited their father's vast collection of fine art following his death in 1927. Initially placing much of it on loan to the Art Institute of Chicago, it was later donated to become a part of the museum’s permanent collection. Deering's affinity for Spanish artists added a significant dimension to the AIC's existing inventory with magnificent works like Bernat Martorell's Saint George Killing the Dragon becoming signature pieces among the museum's aquisitions.

Barbara and Marion continued to follow in the footsteps of not only their father but also their grandfather, extending the family's legacy of philanthropy. In 1933, their endowments built the Deering Library - a massive neo-gothic structure housing over half a million books -at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois (see top left). Both Charles and his father William had been significant albeit anonymous patrons of the school from 1876 until their respective deaths. Brother Roger's bequest of $7,000,000 upon his death in 1936 was one of the largest donations ever made to an institution of higher learning at that time.

The Deering sisters also inherited their uncle James Deering’s lavish estate Villa Vizcaya following his death in 1925. They initially attempted to operate it as an attraction but were plagued by continuous repairs and restoration following the hurricanes of 1926 and 1935. They eventually sold Vizcaya to the county at a fraction of its value with the stipulation that it remain open to the public in perpetuity.

Big Hunting Ground

The area currently known as Cutler Bay, variously known at other times as Cutler Ridge or just plain Cutler, was once known by indigenous peoples as the "Big Hunting Ground". The area was part of the Perrine Land Grant in 1837, wherein congress gave a large alotment of real estate to noted horticulturist Dr. Henry Perrine for scientific endeavors. He was massacred on Indian Key at the outbreak of the 2nd Seminole War.

The area was prized as high ground, standing a full 16 feet above sea level along what is known as the Miami Rock Ridge - a geological feature running from the tip of the penninsula inland to the city of Jupiter. William Fuzzard, a friend of Dr. Cutler who was the first permanent resident of the area, was staying in Coconut Grove in the early 1880's while he explored his surroundings and began building a 2-story home in Cutler. He cut a path between the two locations, eventually widened to a wagon track that would later be known as the Old Cutler Road.

While visiting the Deering Estate, I took the nature tour led by a state park ranger named Andre. Much of our walk traveled the path of the afore-mentioned road (see above left). The tour, brimming with interesting details about the local flora and topography, ended at the site of a Tequesta burial mound (above right) beneath a large oak tree. Andre briefly alluded to the site being disturbed by a man hunting treasure many years prior. Apparently this scoundrel, while not having found anything else he considered to be of value, absconded with two skulls from the mound - which he later lost. It seemed like rather detailed information for an otherwise apocryphal tale, so I was not particularly surprised when, taking the guided tour of the buildings later that day, a second ranger named Max elaborated on the story..

Max went so far as to name the grave-robber as Charles Deering's son - "a self-styled adventurer in search of pirate gold". Deering had two sons - Charles William Case and Roger. Charles William died "without issue" prior to his father...so the suspicion falls toward Roger, though he is described as a sickly lad suffering from tuberculosis from age 17. Nonetheless, his pursuit of dry air led him as far as Egypt and eventually to Albuquerque where he died...so he was at least a traveler if not an "adventurer" and may indeed be the culprit. Information on both sons is scarce at best though I intend to dig a bit deeper.

Nothing runs like a Deering

Yesterday I visited the south Florida estate of Charles Deering, son of tractor baron William Deering. Following Deering Harvester's merge with the McCormick Harvesting Machine Company to become International Harvester in 1902, Charles became the chairman of the board. He was retired by 1910.

The estate was originally the site of a cottage built by Dr. Samuel Richmond, said to be a surveyor for Henry Flagler and the Florida East Coast Railway, in 1896. Richmond chose the small seaside village of Cutler (founded by Dr. William C. Cutler in the early 1870's) to build his home based on its proximity to the projected route of the railroad. As the FEC inched ever closer, Richmond added a three-story rooming-house in anticipation of accomodating weary travelers. The railroad's final path was over two miles away and while the Richmond Inn did play host to a few visiting dignitaries like Mr. Flagler, Cutler's handful of inhabitants began migrating to greener pastures.

Deering started buying up the town in 1916, converting Richmond's hotel into his winter home. In 1921, he decided to make the Cutler estate his year-round home and built a stone house in the Mediterranean Revival style alongside the converted hotel. The walls of the house are 18 inches thick, built to withstand even the most powerful hurricane. Having survived the Chicago Fire of 1871, Deering lived in fear of similar calamity and had all the stone house's doors encased in copper. He also ran water pipelines throughout the 444 acre estate to facilitate fire-fighting should the need arise. The Stone House was likewise built without a kitchen or dining room. All these activities took place in the adjacent Richmond House lest a smoldering morsel from a dinner plate create a raging inferno within the poured-concrete bunker.

Charles was an avid collector of fine art, filling his home with works by Spanish masters like Goya, El Greco and Velasquez. He was especially fond of works by Catalan modernist Ramon Casas, who sketched the portrait of Deering above. His collection, when appraised in 1922, had an estimated value of over $60 million - over three quarters of a billion in today's dollars. Following his death it was donated to the Art Institute in Chicago by his daughters.

Built during the prohibition era, the Deering manor was constructed with a feature extremely rare in south Florida architecture: a wine cellar. Carved deep in the limestone caprock, Deering's private stock was secreted away behind an actual bank vault door, hidden by a bookcase on hinges.

From the burning mountains of Mexico

Mexican Mustang Liniment

Take 2 fluid ounces petroleum, 1 fluid ounce ammonia water, and 1 fluid drachm brandy. Mix.

- from Dick's Encyclopedia of Practical Receipts and Processes: Containing over 6400 receipts embracing thorough information, in plain language, applicable to almost every possible industrial and domestic requirement: or, How they did it in the 1870's

One artifact of particular interest among our collection here at the Key West Shipwreck Treasures Museum is a bottle once containing Mexican Mustang Liniment, salvaged from the wreck of the Isaac Allerton. I was not surprised, though certainly amused, to find it among the massive collection of bottles from the wreck of the S.S. Republic on display in the Shipwreck! exhibit.

Around 1852, Dr. A.G. Bragg of St. Louis Missouri introduced his patent remedy guaranteed to cure ills ranging from Scalatica and Rheumatism to Screw Worms and Saddle Galls. Mexican Mustang Liniment… for Man and Beast! bellowed the banners advertising the elixir. The liniment, like many potions of the day, was comprised primarily of crude petroleum and described as “oil from the burning mountains of Mexico”. On the side of his store at the northeast corner of Market and 3rd Streets, Dr. Bragg had a mural painted depicting a volcano erupting amidst a fleeing regiment of Mexican troops led by General Antonio Lopez de Santa Ana – his wooden leg left behind on the battlefield waiting to be claimed as a prize by proud Texan militiamen. Dr. James McLean, an employee of Dr. Bragg during this time, took inspiration from this popular and dramatic mural when he went into business for himself selling Dr. J.H. McLean’s Volcanic Oil.

Dr. Bragg eventually sold his recipe to the Lyons Manufacturing Company in New York who continued to produce Mexican Mustang Liniment up until the turn of the century.

"So long as human ills endure, and mortals suffer pain, so long shall MUSTANG LINIMENT its glorious name maintain."

Bicycle built for...Steam

One of the more fascinating items on display at the Oklahoma City Museum of Science was a steam-powered bicycle built in 1885 by inventor Lucius Day Copeland in Phoenix, Arizona. Beginning with this augmentation of his Star high wheel safety bicycle, he went on to become a steam-power pioneer - designing a number of similar bicycles before graduating to automobiles.

"NEW YORK CITY?!?!?!?!!!"

On the day following my investigation of the Shipwreck! exhibit, my traveling companion and I made a pilgrimage to the town of Guthrie, about 30 miles north of Oklahoma City. Originally established as the state’s territorial capital following the land run of 1889, it grew over a matter of months to become the “Queen of the Prairie” with electricity, a trolley system, underground parking garages, and all other manner of modern conveniences alongside the ornate brick buildings and Victorian mansions lining its streets . It became the first state capital 1907, but this title was lost by popular vote in 1910…by some accounts in retaliation for criticism of state politicians in the local newspaper. By order of the governor, the state seal was moved (or “stolen” according to local lore) in the middle of the night on June 10 of that year. Legend has it that a posse was formed and sent to Oklahoma City to reclaim the seal by force…all to no avail.

With the loss of the capital, Guthrie took an economic nosedive – losing railroad traffic, commerce, industry and eventually much of its population. As it shrank while nearby communities grew, Guthrie never experienced the urban sprawl nor the drive to demolish and modernize that became so prevalent in the other towns. As a result, much of the original city remains completely intact as if it were a time capsule of Victorian frontier living. The city currently boasts the largest urban Historic District in the U.S., with over 2,100 buildings over 400 city blocks.

We began our visit with a trolley tour of the city. The narration was pre-recorded and sorely in need of maintenance. While many of the details were fascinating, the tour lacked color and in many cases (particularly concerning architectural styles) accuracy. Drive times between sites were filled with dead air, squandering ideal opportunities for more elaborate anecdotes. The narrator’s tone was decidedly bitter, particularly when referencing the loss of not only the state capital, but also the university Guthrie had been promised as consolation. Nonetheless, the city spoke for itself through both its extraordinary examples of turn-of-the-century architecture and its unique history.

Historic plaques tell the story of many former residents and their businesses throughout the downtown area. The Same Old Moses Saloon once stood near the corner of Harrison Avenue and 2nd Street. Its proprietor, Moses Weinberger was a banana-merchant turned liquor-dealer from Wichita who had settled in Guthrie during the land run of 1889. A popular host, successful entrepreneur, and shrewd publicist, Weinberger once invited local resident and prohibition crusader Carry Nation to speak at his saloon with the intention of drawing a massive crowd. Upon finishing her speech, she produced her infamous bar-busting hatchet and proceeded to have at the gin mill's fine wooden countertop – at which point she was restrained and ejected from the premises. From that day forward, the Same Old Moses displayed a sign proclaiming “All Nations Welcome Except Carry”.

Directly across the street from the site of the Old Moses stands the Blue Bell Bar, built in 1903 to replace the original wood-frame structure opened in 1889. Tom Mix, star of many early cinematic Westerns, bartended at the Blue Bell during the territorial years before making his way to Hollywood. My compatriot and I sought refreshment at this fine establishment and enjoyed the quaint interior which has retained many of the original fixtures and fittings. Several seats down the bar, two local gentlemen discussed the ineffectiveness of the local 3.2 percent beer while they sampled a variety of imported brews for comparison of taste and strength. At one point, one of the gentlemen insisted on evidence of his drink’s origin and, having read past what he described as “a bunch of German writing” he announced “Bottled in…” - now joined by his partner as they exclaimed in unison: “NEW YORK CITY?!?!?!?!!!” - bringing uproarious laughter to all five of us in the Blue Bell. Somewhere an advertising executive is smiling.
As we departed, the fellow drinking New York’s finest German beer bid us farewell: “Y’all come back and see us again now. We’ll be stuck here for the rest of our lives.” Actually, I can think of worse places.

Farragut's Flagship

Being a shipwreck enthusiast and even professional of sorts in the field, it made a strange sort of sense to plan a trip to Oklahoma City in order to experience Odyssey Marine’s Shipwreck! exhibit at the Museum of Science there. The exhibit combines a vast array of artifacts from several different wrecks with interactive technology highlighting Odyssey’s state of the art salvage techniques and equipment.

Of primary interest was their discovery of the S.S. Republic, a sidewheel steamer sunk by a hurricane off the coast of Georgia in 1865. Built in Baltimore in 1953 as the Tennessee, it operated as a merchant vessel, eventually becoming the first Baltimore steamship to cross the Atlantic. The Tennessee also claimed the title of the first passenger steamship providing regular service between New York and Central America.

Serving as a blockade runner for the Confederacy during the Civil War, the C.S.S. Tennessee was captured by the U.S. Navy following the siege of New Orleans - during which Admiral David Farragut's famous order "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!" was given - and became Farragut's flagship for the remainder of that campaign. Farragut, adopted son of Commodore David Porter (a hero and villain of local Key West history ) will be revisited and more thoroughly examined in a later entry.

Following further service as the U.S.S. Tennessee in the blockade of the Gulf of Mexico and the assault on Ft. Morgan in Mobile Bay, the ship was renamed the U.S.S. Mobile. Shortly hereafter, she was damaged in a hurricane near the mouth of the Rio Grande and decommissioned. Sold at auction, repaired and renamed, the S.S. Republic resumed her career as a passenger steamship on the route twixt New York and New Orleans. On October 25th, 1865 - the fifth day of her fifth journey, she succumbed to the strength of a hurricane off the coast of Georgia.
The Republic was carrying not only passengers and commodities, but also a cargo of cold, hard cash sorely needed to aid in the reconstruction of the war-torn South. Over $400,000 in gold and silver coins was lost with the ship.

In August of 2003, Odyssey Marine Exploration discovered what was left of the S.S. Republic 100 miles southeast of Savannah in over 1700 feet of water. Their salvage yielded over 51,000 coins (approximately 1/3 of the original cargo) with an estimated value of $75 million and over 14,000 unique and varied artifacts. A vast assortment of these items are included in the Shipwreck! exhibit alongside touch-screens and talking kiosks that tell the story of the Republic and other wrecks.

Extraordinary Exagerators

It is, to say the least, interesting, when considering the men whom Washington surrounded himself with, to consider the cases of Major Pierre L'Enfant and General Friedrich Wilhelm Von Steuben - both of whom came to Washington's attention at Valley Forge.

Von Stueben appears in Portsmouth, New Hampshire (birthplace of Tobias Lear) in 1777 having served on the general staff of the Prussian army. He represents himself to Washington not only as royalty, but as one of Frederich the Great's generals (in reality having only attained the rank of Captain). Nonetheless, he single-handedly shaped a militia on the brink of both starvation and desertion into a disciplined force that rivalled that of the British. He also wrote the drill manual that would become that standard for U.S. armed forces through the War of 1812.



Pierre L'Enfant, who had studied Art at the Louvre before joining the Revolution, parlayed a modest talent for drawing into a career as both a military and civil engineer. While initially involved in less significant travails upon his arrival at Valley Forge - such as creating a portrait of Washington at the behest of Maj. Gen. LaFayette, L'Enfant would go on to draw the blueprint for the city of Washington, D.C. The saga of his schemes, scams, and unlikely successes is most excellently, if densely, told by Les Standiford (author of the brilliant Henry Flagler biography "Last Train To Paradise") in his monumental "Washington Burning".

Colonel Tobias Lear

Early today I learned about the man named Colonel Tobias Lear. For many years a trusted aide and personal secretary to George Washington, Lear is also noteworthy as "The Man Who Stole from the Father of Our Country" - having embezzled rents he was collecting for General George following his years as president. Lear is most famous as the man who was present as Washington passed, immortalizing his final words "'Tis Well." Following Washington's death, Lear became custodian of the late president's papers and personal effects...ostensibly with the intention of co-authoring a definitive biography of the country's first commander in chief. When this honor fell to Justice John Marshall and Lear was instructed to forward the source materials to him, large portions of Washington's diaries along with much of his correspondence had gone missing. Most poignantly absent were a series of letters from a heated exchange with Thomas Jefferson. During Washington's presidency, Jefferson criticized his administration as "Anglican, Monarchial, and Aristocratical" in a letter to an Italian friend. The letter found its way into publication abroad and was eventually translated for the American public by Noah Webster. Washington was understandably furious and initiated a correspondence that one of Washington's servants described as being so dire that it could only end in a duel.

It is suspected that Lear destroyed this correspondence at Jefferson's request and this theory is supported by Lear's appointment to diplomatic positions in the Caribbean and on the Barbary Coast during Jefferson's presidency. While my early education painted a stellar portrait of Thomas Jefferson, history's soft, white, underbelly continues to reveal a less than moral if not wholly unpleasant man behind the myth.

Tristissimus Hominum

As the founder of the Honorable Society of Reluctant Explorers, Unlikely Historians, and Anachronistic Adventurers, I have opted to begin this chronicle of those things I learn and experience both as a record for myself and as a resource of sorts for like-minded individuals.

As we approach the Ides of March, I reflect briefly on that Roman ruler - my namesake Tiberius: refered to by Pliny the Elder as "tristissimus hominum" - the gloomiest of all men. It is my hope that my studies, travels, and their resultant musings might provide a panacea, a "Medicine for Melancholy" if you will, for my restless spirit and my tendency toward darker depths. My recurring insomnia will certainly facilitate random ramblings on any number of thoughts and discoveries...though they may seemingly lack direction, connection or cohesion. It has been my experience that time and tenacity will reveal that stitching in the fabric of whatever corner of history catches my fancy - and that the threads grow stronger and more intricate with that exposure.