by Nick Wynne
He persuaded his wealthy clients to purchase antiques, paintings and furnishings of all kinds from Tuscany, Venice, Sicily or Greece. Soon, entire rooms of Mediterranean furniture, architectural elements and art found their way to Boca Raton for incorporation into a Mizner-built home. What he could not purchase abroad, he manufactured in his own studios—reproductions of ancient tiles, antique doors, murals and numerous other items that captured the feeling of Old Europe.
Another part of Florida’s new identity came when most developers tacitly adopted an overarching style of architecture—Mediterranean Revival. Glenn Curtiss, the developer of Hialeah, preferred the adobe architecture of the American Southwest, but in the public’s mind, there was little to distinguish it from the similar Mediterranean Revival. Some developers, like Carl Dann, thought other architectural styles were more appropriate to Florida’s interior, and his Mount Plymouth Golf and Country Club development in Lake County featured “gingerbread houses” designed and built by Sam Stoltz, a former illustrator for a poultry magazine. Stoltz’s homes were generally Tudor Revival in style but incorporated elements from Irish and Scottish country homes as well. Other, smaller developers also featured different architectural styles, but these proved less popular and ran counter to the public’s perception of the Sunshine State.
The ornate Mediterranean Revival style of architecture, first popularized by Addison Mizner in Palm Beach, became the dominant architectural style of the Florida boom. This is the staircase at the Boca Club. Courtesy of the Florida Historical Society.
Given Mizner’s success in attracting the very wealthy as his clients in Boca Raton and Palm Beach, virtually every Florida developer immediately appropriated his ideas. On Florida’s east and west coasts, where the majority of the money was being spent, Mediterranean Revival styles dominated. Davis Islands, the brainchild of “Doc” Davis in Tampa, who shamelessly promoted his development as a second Venice, was to replicate it completely with palazzos and canals. George Merrick even appropriated the name “Venetian Pool” for the community swimming pool in his Coral Gables development on the outskirts of Miami. Merrick, Davis, Fisher and Mizner aimed their developments at the very wealthy, but the majority of developers realized that the pool of the superrich was limited and sought to tailor their subdivisions or communities toward the moderately wealthy or upper middle class of American society. Whether they envisioned a restricted community of the superrich or a moderately priced development for the middle class, promoters of the Florida boom aimed at the vast dual markets of seasonal visitors and permanent settlers, who equated the Sunshine State with the faux Mediterranean architecture.
Sam Stoltz, a Chicago architect, designed the “fantasy” houses for the Mount Plymouth Golf and Country Club development in Lake County. His designs were a deliberate attempt to make Mount Plymouth distinctive and stand out from the hundreds of Mediterranean Revival developments in the state. Courtesy of the Florida Historical Society.
Some promoters, like John and Charles Ringling in Sarasota, realized the need for new houses for the artisans, service personnel, laborers and merchants who provided the underpinnings of the more affluent society. These would be priced so that the workers could afford them, and a portion of their projects was reserved for these buyers. Even homes built for the working classes, however, followed the basic styles of Coral Gables, Miami Beach and Boca Raton. Many of the smaller homes featured inlaid tile floors, turrets or mini-towers and balconies. Other developments, like Oldsmar, founded by Ransom E. Olds for workers who retired from his factories, and Venice, owned in large part by the Brotherhood of Railroad Engineers, allowed families with modest incomes to buy into the Florida dream. Following the lead of promoters in Miami and Boca Raton, the developers of these communities adopted the Mediterranean Revival style of architecture so that the middle class could enjoy the feel of old Europe.
Hundreds of local developers throughout the state, awed by the money newcomers were willing to spend to buy a slice of these fantasies, quickly set their own architects to drawing plans for new “old” houses in distinctive subdivisions. For those in a hurry to settle, some builders offered homes that could be erected in a week or ten days. Less substantial than the homes in the big South Florida developments, they nevertheless ensured that anyone, regardless of status, could have a piece of the Florida dream.
Not all developments in Florida during the boom featured expensive European-style homes. The “Quickbilt Bungalow” cost a mere $4,000 and could be erected in a single week. Such homes proved popular with members of the lower middle class. Courtesy of Special Collections, University of South Florida.
One of the most prolific, but underrated, architects of the 1920s was Richard Rummell, who resided in the small town of Rockledge and designed most of the public buildings and private homes in Brevard County during this decade. Unlike some of his peers, Rummell was formally educated as an architect in Pennsylvania and settled in Rockledge around 1915. Soon he became enamored with the new emphasis on Mediterranean Revival styles and worked with several local developers in the area to place Brevard County in the mainstream of the boom.
Rummell’s work was largely concentrated on two developments. One was the Valencia Road development adjacent to the small downtown area of Rockledge and Virginia Park, which was located to the west of the neighboring city of Cocoa. Rummell also contributed designs for some houses in the small development of Carleton Terrace, which was part of the real estate empire of D.P. Davis and his brother, located about four miles north of Cocoa. In addition, Rummell designed the new governmental buildings for both cities. The demand for Mediterranean-style homes and public buildings kept him busy for several decades.
Richard Rummell of Rockledge was an accomplished architect who adopted Mizner’s Mediterranean Revival style in the early 1920s. He was a prolific worker and designed most of the boom-era houses in the Rockledge-Cocoa area, as well as the major public buildings. This is a typical home constructed during the boom using his architectural plans. Courtesy of the Florida Historical Society.
Craftsmen and carpenters, long used to building houses that featured wooden frame construction, suddenly found they had to solve new problems caused by terra cotta tile walls, heavy barrel-tiled roofs and ornately plastered walls, ceilings and decorative fireplaces. Wrought-iron stairs and balconies, foreign to earlier Florida homes, now became de rigueur and created a demand for entirely new construction skills. When local craftsmen could not master the new skills, workmen were brought in from northern states and, in the case of the homes of the wealthiest, from Europe. Soon, the broad Florida landscapes were filled with reproductions of European palaces, Spanish and Italian villas and even Moorish and Crusader castles.
The demands for building had an invigorating impact on the Florida economy, although it was limited somewhat to the middle and southern parts of the state. New industries, created to meet the demands of architects for elements for their designs, quickly emerged to supply building materials from Florida resources. The wave of apparent prosperity was not limited to buying and selling real estate but spilled over into other areas, particularly the service and hospitality sectors of the economy. Even old out-of-office politicians and sports figures, some long past their prime but still retaining some name recognition, found new employment as they became the handmaidens of promoters like Carl Fisher, George Merrick and D.P. “Doc” Davis, whose get-rich schemes moved from the banal to the blissful under the influence of these celebrities. Perhaps none of the promoters’ promoters was more artful in selling than three-time presidential candidate and former secretary of state William Jennings Bryan, who, like some freak in a sideshow, dutifully pitched Merrick’s Coral Gables development three times a day to large audiences. Merrick reportedly paid him $100,000 a year to front his development. Up and down the state, lesser-known figures made similar appeals pitching smaller developments—the only difference being one of scale not of content.
Golfing legends Walter Hage
n and Bobby Jones lent their names and images to developments on the west coast—Jones in Sarasota and Hagen in St. Petersburg. John J. McGraw, persuaded by John Ringling to bring the New York Giants to Sarasota for spring training, soon joined the development craze and promoted his own subdivision, Pennant Park, where lots sold briskly. Jack Dempsey promoted Temple Terrace by staging exhibition-boxing matches, while President Warren G. Harding used his office and prestige to help promote Vero Beach and Miami Beach. Vice President Charles Dawes and his brother were major investors and promoters of Mizner’s Boca Raton development, eventually taking over the Mizner operation entirely. President Calvin Coolidge also lent his prestige to various developments by simply visiting them, being photographed and then having his image reproduced in newspapers and magazines around the world. Countless other lesser lights added to the publicity mixture and created an energy-filled environment of “see and be seen.”
The refusal of most Americans to abide by the Volstead Act and the glamour that often surrounded bootleggers made criminals like Captain William “Billy” McCoy, the premier smuggler of illegal alcohol from Bermuda, a welcomed guest at any hotel or resort. In virtually every major Florida city, booze was plentiful. Major developers like Carl Fisher, appalled at the federal government’s regulation of personal freedom and aware that their livelihoods depended on keeping visitors happy, freely employed the services of bootleggers. As a matter of fact, Gar Wood, the famous racing boat driver for Fisher, lent his expertise about boats to rumrunners and, with Fisher’s knowledge and approval, provided them with highly developed motors that would allow them to leave the Coast Guard in the distance on their almost nightly runs to the Bahamas, just sixty miles from Miami. In the words of Fisher’s biographer, Mark Foster, “Carl did not simply tolerate rumrunning into and out of Miami Beach; he became an active participant…He might have delegated the task of securing liquor to one of his managers, but Carl enjoyed running risks and matching wits with Prohibition agents.”
Famed orator and three-time presidential candidate William Jennings Bryan exhorted purchasers three times a day to buy property in George Merrick’s Coral Gables. He received a $100,000 a year salary. He died in 1926. Courtesy of the Florida Historical Society.
Bobby Jones, the all-time-best amateur golfer in history, frequently played courses in new developments in Florida during the 1920s. Although he never received payment or took cash prizes, he often demanded and received “gifts” from tournament sponsors. Courtesy of the Moorhead Collection.
One of the most famous athletes to play golf in Florida during the boom was George Herman “Babe” Ruth, an avid golfer. Ruth’s presence in a tournament or an exhibition match was a surefire way to attract hordes of people to a development. Courtesy of the Moorhead Collection.
“Touts, louts and losers,” so the local wisdom went, attended Hialeah daily to put their money on surefire winners. Glenn H. Curtiss, the developer of Hialeah, decided that the gambling environment was so strong it discouraged people from purchasing homes, and he subsequently built Country Club Estates and Opa-locka to appeal to families. Courtesy of the Florida Historical Society.
Despite their reputations for violence, major crime figures were also accepted into the more gentrified society of boom-time Florida. The allure of associating with known criminals simply added additional zest to the already hectic 1920s. Mob boss Alphonse “Al” Capone, the king of Chicago crime, was a frequent visitor to Florida during the 1920s and reputedly lived on a boat in the Indian River, rented a large mansion in Mount Plymouth Golf and Country Club in Lake County for his gang, frequented the horse races in Hialeah and eventually purchased a mansion in Miami Beach. Carl Fisher later testified that Capone’s presence as a Miami Beach resident contributed to the real estate collapse of the late ’20s. Sam Cohen, who would later figure in the mob scandals in Las Vegas in the 1950s, came to Florida in the 1920s to establish bookmaking operations. Lesser figures in American crime came to Florida, particularly Miami and Tampa, to take advantage of the betting that surrounded such places as the infamous Beach Club in Palm Beach, the jai alai frontons in Miami and the thoroughbred horses at the Hialeah Race Course. Although illegal, gambling and gambling casinos operated in full view of the public and did so with the tacit approval of governmental authorities.
Everything—from the distinctive architecture to the colorful advertising brochures to the operations of illegal gambling establishments and rumrunners—contributed to creating a vision of Florida as the “Pleasure Paradise of the World,” unmatched anywhere.
CHAPTER 6
A City from Whole Cloth
CARL GRAHAM FISHER
If ever a man made a city, Carl Fisher made Miami Beach—from the ground right up to its bathing beauties. Even today it still bears the stamp of his personality. So Miami begins with Carl Fisher.
—Polly Redford, Billion-Dollar Sandbar: A Biography of Miami Beach
It took a man with true vision to see America’s playground emerging from the tidal swamps and sandy dunes on the small island on the northern shore of Biscayne Bay in 1913. It also took a man with great financial resources to translate his vision into reality. Yet, such a man was Carl Graham Fisher, an Indiana entrepreneur and marketing genius. From his fertile imagination—and with the help of round-the-clock dredges pumping millions of cubic yards of ocean sand onto the mangrove-lined shores—he created the paradise he had dreamed about. With broad streets edged with coconut palms, he platted individual lots for private homes, broad parks, bathhouses and polo-playing fields for visitors and residents in the new development of Alton Beach. By January 1914, it could boast of electrical and telephone services, and by December 1915, city water and sewage systems were in operation. To the north of his Alton Beach development, the Collins family and the Lummus brothers copied Fisher’s efforts and added to the available pool of new acreage. In early 1915, Fisher and his fellow developers incorporated the island as “Miami Beach,” with its own government structure and public buildings. He envisioned a self-sufficient city to serve every need and desire of its temporary and permanent residents.
When he arrived in Miami, Fisher brought with him the one thing that was needed to make his dream a reality—plenty of cash. His sale of the Prest-O-Lite company gave him a nest egg of some $5 million, which he used to purchase land and begin the process of dredging sand from the Atlantic Ocean to expand his property.
Even as Fisher’s early attempts to draw new investors and settlers failed, he remained committed to the idea of Miami Beach. Realizing that luxury hotels would draw customers for his developments, he offered six hundred feet of prime beachfront to any investor willing to build a $100,000 hotel. There were no takers. Just before the outbreak of World War I, he built the Lincoln Hotel, a modest hotel with just thirty-five rooms. He continued to invest in the necessary infrastructure to support his new city and in the attractions that would draw visitors. In 1919, tired of the on-again, off-again service of the Miami Electric Light & Power Company, he incorporated the Miami Beach Electric Company, with its own power plant, to deliver economical and reliable power. The same year, he and his fellow developers on the island organized a streetcar company—a persistent money loser—to bring visitors and potential customers to Miami Beach. Two years later, they tried to sell the line to the City of Miami without success.
To bolster the image of Miami Beach, Fisher sold his home on Miami’s Brickell Avenue, the most prestigious address in the city, and built a $65,000 mansion in Miami Beach on Lincoln Road (later Collins Avenue). He used his home to entertain prospective investors and his cronies; it remained isolated from the mainstream of Miami society until after the war. His wife, Jane, recalled the move as initially living like a pioneer where everything had to be brought in by boat or truck. The ramshackle Collins Bridge (1913) was eventually supplemented in 1920 by a causeway (now MacArthur Causeway) and then dismantled entirely and replaced by the Venetian Causeway in 1926.
During World War
I, Fisher rented his polo grounds to the federal government for use as training fields for new pilots. The rent was one dollar a year, but his competitors complained that his generous concession had underlying motives of self-aggrandizement. To some extent, this was true. Officers and enlisted men who were stationed at Miami Beach became convinced that it was truly a paradise, and they wrote home about this little slice of heaven. After the war, many of them returned to visit and buy.
The Collins Bridge, a ramshackle wooden structure built in 1913 between the mainland and Miami Beach, was replaced in 1920 by a modern causeway, which stretched for three and a half miles. Courtesy of the Florida Historical Society.
The Venetian Causeway, built in 1926, provided an elegant and modern connection between Miami Beach and the mainland. It replaced the old Collins Bridge, which was dismantled. Courtesy of the Florida Historical Society.
Prior to 1920, Fisher had sought to duplicate the appeal of Palm Beach for the mega-wealthy of America, but his efforts in this direction were woefully unsuccessful. The sedate advertising he used was designed to fit his view of what the Newport and Palm Beach crowds might find attractive. This was a remarkable change from the full-bore, often garish advertising techniques he used to promote his racetrack and other activities. Instead of innovating and giving free rein to his own imagination, he laced himself in a straightjacket of conservatism, and it showed. Mark S. Foster, the author of Fisher’s biography Castles in the Sand, described the failure of his prewar efforts to attract visitors, investors and families to his development as discouraging. “At times,” Foster wrote, “he could not even give property away.” Not even his offers to finance the construction of new homes met with success. It looked like Miami Beach would be a bust.