And the Winner Is......

First, I'd like to give a huge thank you to the people who took the time and effort to post a comment and make a stab at exactly who "Jones" is in the post, "Just Who Is This Jones Guy?" August 31. The little stories you came up with were excellent - one had me laughing.

Now as to who, exactly, Jones Creek was named after....

My Jupiter native friend, Brad Mayo, went chasing after several life-long natives he knew and actually found someone who knew Jones. He was Preacher Jones and was a preacher at Southern Methodist Church on Park Place. Brad is going to find out (as Paul Harvey says) the rest of the story, but there you go.... Preacher Jones.

And now, I guess you're anxious to find out who won the grand prize... I put all the names in a box and had the lovely Katherine draw the winner.  Congratulations are in order to (drumroll.....)

FRED HOLMSTOCK

Fred, thank you so much for being a follower and participant in this contest. I know you'll love the book! Please e-mail me and let me know where you'd like me to ship your prize.

To all, this was a lot of fun and I'll do something along the same lines again as soon as I can find another mysterious factoid about Palm Beach County.

EDIT:  The mystery continues... I had the pleasure of speaking with Richard Procyk, a local Jupiter historian and author of  a book about the Battle of the Loxahatchee. I asked him if he thought "Jones" might be Preacher Jones. His opinion was that Jones Creek got the name way before Preacher Jones showed up. He thought that since a Fort Jupiter was located there, it may have been named after a soldier. Or a squatter. He suggested a couple of leads I could follow, so the quest is continuing to see if I can find definitive information on it. I'll be sure to pass whatever I find on to you.

War Off the Beach



Historic Hartman House circa 1930s
Posing on the front stoop is my father, Norman Hartman,
and his big sister, Marjorie Ann

             When my father, Norman Hartman was ten, the world was at war. In Europe, World War II raged and Germans were the enemy.  There was more going on during that time in South Florida than I realized.

               In the summer months when it was hottest in Delray Beach, Norman and his siblings would sleep on the second floor front porch of the house they grew up in to catch whatever sea breeze might still be moving. More than once, they heard a boom and, turning east toward the sound over the ocean, would see the sky lighting up in bright yellows and oranges.  It wasn’t fireworks.  The flaming sky was a sign that a German U-boat had torpedoed another ship trying to make its way up or down the coast. The neighbor a couple of doors down, Sam Ogren, Jr., and others would run for their boats and race out into the ocean to pick up survivors. Sam actually received a commendation for his rescue work during the war.  My Uncle Allen remembers survivors huddled in my Great-Uncle Lloyd Benson’s kitchen at his dairy farm near where Briny Breezes is now located. The day after an explosion, my father and his brother Warren would hike over to the beach to pour through the debris that came ashore—mattresses, wood, odd bits of belongings and once, even the wing of a plane.

               Germans actually controlled the Atlantic Ocean for the first years of the war and caused quite an interruption to shipping along the entire east coast of the United States. The big ships that couldn’t make it down the Intracoastal Waterway had no choice but to take their chances on the open sea.  Airplanes flew numerous missions up and down the coast trying to spot German submarines. There’s a great book by Michael Gannon named “Operation Drumbeat” which details the German military action of the same name. Operation Drumbeat was meant to cause major trouble and it was highly successful for a while.

             Because my great-grandfather, Fred Hartman, was a German immigrant, the FBI came calling. My dad remembers the children being shooed out of the house by his mother while the interview with “Grosspapa” was conducted.  The FBI wanted to make sure that even though he had relatives and family in Germany, Grosspapa would contact the FBI if he were ever contacted by a saboteur, even if it were a family member.

               There was a huge military base in Boca Raton, part of which is now the campus of Florida Atlantic University. Instructors at the base were teaching the brand new field of radar.  My grandparents rented rooms to several officers and their wives, some of whom came back year after year after the war to rent a room, vacation in Delray Beach and visit with the family. My dad’s favorite was named Gordon “Gordy” Apple. Although it’s claimed that Norman and Warren tormented Gordy and teased him unmercifully, it was Gordy who took the two young boys to the garage at the back of the house and worked with them to build a working radio.



The Historic Hartman House 2011

               The house my father grew up in is still in its original location at 321 N.E 7^th Avenue in Delray Beach and has just recently been reopened as The Historic Hartman House Bed & Breakfast. Benita and Jordon Goldstein, the owners, have lovingly restored and renovated the 1926 house and it is truly a trip into the past, albeit quite a bit more luxurious than the original version. If you stay in the Highlands Park Suite, you can stand in what was the second floor front porch and look east. If you use your imagination, you can imagine being ten years old and realizing the battle was not an ocean away in Europe, but mere miles away, right off of your beach.

 

(This column appears in Southern Exposure, September issue published by Seabreeze Publications, Inc. at seabreezepublications.com.)

And The Door Swung Open

This is an added bonus this week! As my regular followers know, I've joined Rachael Harrie's Network Platform Building Campaign. There are a few challenges posted over the next several weeks. This is the first. We were to write a flash fiction story in exactly 200 words that began with "The door swung open" and closes with "the door swung shut".) So, being true to my love of the history of the Palm Beach County area, I've pulled in Sir Harry Oakes and the Winter Golf Club (also known as the "Oakes Mansion" to scads of North Palm Beach natives) for my story. Hope you enjoy it!

                               THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN

The door swung open and as the lightning exploded behind us, we gasped. I had never believed that Harry Oakes actually haunted the Winter Golf Club. After all, he was murdered in The Bahamas, not North Palm Beach. But there he was in front of us, looking just like my cousin Tom swore he did when Tom saw him on the staircase.  I turned to run and tripped over a loose floorboard. My friend fell on top of me and we scrambled to untangle ourselves in terror. Sir Harry calmly turned from the window he’d been looking out of and gazed directly at us. We froze.  Harry moved toward us, he said, “I know who murdered me. The world needs to know so that I can leave this place.”

From the floor, we nodded slowly and clutched each other even tighter. We had heard the story. Who hadn’t? Harry’s son-in-law had been tried for his murder and acquitted. It was rumored the detectives had botched the investigation. The murderer could have been Meyer Lansky or any one of a half dozen other suspects. Harry sighed and started to talk. The wind screamed through the broken windows….and the door swung shut.

Addendum to Jones Post

To my wonderful followers:

If you posted a comment and it hasn't shown up, I apologize profusely and ask that you re-post it. Unfortunately, it appears I had something wrong in the blog settings. I can only plead the "New Blogger Disease." It's been fixed and I'm looking forward to reading your theories - serious or otherwise.

With great appreciation for each and every one of you,

Ruth