The Things I’ve Seen

“I did not tell half of what I saw, for I knew I would not be believed.” - Marco Polo on his deathbed, 1324, apparently? Uncharted said so.

“I have discovered a truly marvelous proof of this, which this margin is too narrow to contain.” Pierre de Fermat, though that was about maths.

I'm going to slow down a bit from the big stuff, and look at a few smaller things I've seen at Key West. Partially because I'm still reeling from the Overseas Railroad and need more time to prepare for the big things, and partially because, wow, I saw a lot. There's a lot of ground to cover. Let's mop up a few things in one go. If something's not resonating…look for the next header! That's the beauty of multiple entries, you can always skip ahead. I won't mind. I won't even know!

First Flight Brewery

A runner up for a good place to grab a pint and a bite, First Flight Brewery is west of Duvall's northern end. It's reasonably priced, the staff friendly, the food and beer solid. But wait: there's more!

It's also the birthplace of Pan American World Airways. Some may be more familiar with the old Tri/Bigram pair Pan Am, which is admittedly a bit smoother of an experience. Some may not know this particular airline at all. They were very well known, but airline industry deregulation caught them and confounded a bunch of existing issues at the company. It struggled along another decade, making a cameo in National Lampoon's European Vacation (1985) before declaring bankruptcy in 1991. Wikipedia tells me that a railroad holding company bought its name and logos in 1998, and with it Guilford Transportation Industries became Pan Am Systems, logo and all. I'm sure there's a real interesting story there, but I didn't see it this trip so it's not for me. We're also at the end of the story, and this building is at the beginning.

My history on the beginning is sketchy, so I'm going to mythologize: some Army Air Corpsmen were getting a bit salty that back in the 1920s, a German-owned air company in Central America was negotiating for landing rights in the Panama Canal Zone and working through U.S. shell companies to get International business from the U.S. to Central America. In March of 1927, they did something about it: they snagged a contract to deliver mail from Key West to Cuba, best buddies at the time. Of course, they had no way of actually getting the mail back and forth: they were Air Corpsmen, they weren't actual planes. Another company had landing rights in Cuba and an aircraft, another company wanted to throw money at ventures like this, and a new joke of "how many companies does it take to fly to Cuba" was just sitting there for any comedians of the era. They all got together to get the contract off the ground in October 1927 just days before the deadline (metaphorically and literally), backed by some wealthy investors such as Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney (yes, those Vanderbilts, unlike Cornelius Vanderbilt Wood). Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney would go on to be the Under Secretary of Commerce and Assistant Secretary of the Air Force under President Harry Truman, which…President Truman will come up soon! Probably not Mr. Whitney though.

The U.S. Government wanted to assure there was competition for SCADTA, the German-owned airline of concern, and a State-Corporate partnership was born. This wasn't too strange at the time: many airlines, especially international ones, were wholly State-owned operations. Pan American lived up to its name, connecting the Americas over the next few decades. When the U.S. needed help overseas, Pan American flew right in (again in both senses), establishing air routes to conflict zones such as Vietnam.

By this point, it's unclear to me from the signage what their headquarters looked like, but it surely had well outgrown this little house. However, at its start it was all run out of this building.

Now you can be like me and drink a beer and eat some food. The poke was good, the fries were done right, the beer was refreshing and tasty. There's a small gift shop if you'd like to peruse, but no museum or much historical information or exhibits to speak of. The plaque outside is probably the biggest indicator of the history. Online property records only go back to 1992, referencing a Warranty Deed but no instrument number. There's Deed Book & Page information, but this isn't that kind of newsletter where I dig in further. Well, OK, not in this case. I suppose there's something here, though: we could live in the version of the world where the company went bankrupt in 1991, proceedings wound their way through court, and the land was sold for $349,500 on October 1st 1992 to an enterprising individual with a dream of turning history into suds. Perhaps even the last folks working on the bankruptcy sat in that building, penciling out the final details, like the founders almost 65 years earlier.

That's unlikely, to be clear. But it's a good story one can tell themselves while noshing on some snacks.

Smallest Bar

100% tourist trap at the northern end of Duval Street. I was a tourist, there to do touristy things, and sometimes you just gotta shove your leg in that trap and see what it feels like when it closes on you. Smaller than even the famously small bars in Shinjuku Golden Gai, it's actually a bit of a cheat: it's an alley, with a roof to protect you (though primarily the bar and its tender) from the elements. Most of the utilities are actually inside an adjoining business, and this isn't a separate lot: it's an extension of some other bar.

That aside, it's a pretty reasonably priced beer for Duval, and a great way to people watch. In my experience there, a lot of folks do exactly what I did: "Oh cool, the smallest bar. It's tiny! Let's go gawk at it!" Most folks however would maybe buy a drink and then move on. I grabbed a beer, had a great conversation with the very friendly bartender, and watched as Duval bubbled along. I had so many 5 minute (and less) conversations with folks wandering through. This was probably the single best way to experience other folks having the Duval Street Experience that I found. It was also a great source of information on good things to do and see in the area. In fact, I believe this is where I got a recommendation for Mary Ellen's. Definitely stop in, or at least walk past, and give it a gawk.

Since it's the smallest bar, it's also fitting it has the smallest entry this issue.

Southernmost Point in the US

The southernmost point in the U.S. would be in Hawaii, the 50th State, on the Island of Hawaii (or Big Island, a name I’ve appreciated since I first found out that was a thing). It wasn’t “always” a State, being a territory since the 1890s after U.S. officials, foreign business leaders, and some supporters effected a brazen coup against the Kingdom of Hawaii. It later became a State in 1959, yes, after the attack on Pearl Harbor. I haven’t seen that point. It does apparently have a marker, though.

That’s probably not even right - that’s as far South as you can go in the 50 States, but considering territories and such I’m guessing that’s probably American Samoa. All I know about that is it’s pretty far south in Polynesia, where a bunch of Samoans were having a fine enough time of it until the Europeans and US started poking around. Then a military base popped up and they were welcomed to their new territory of the United States, which must have been quite the surprise.

But I’m way in the weeds now. In the Continental U.S., you don’t get further south than the tip of Florida. Texas gives it a run for the title, but its legs give out by around Fort Lauderdale. There are small islands dotting the coast of the Keys, given the topography, and the true southernmost point is probably a thing you see from a few hundred feet away by a boat. Key West is the southernmost key, and on it, there’s a marker for its southernmost point. You can stand next to it and take pictures, if you’re willing to wait in the line.

Though, even this isn’t true - the southernmost point of Key West is probably within the landfill operations that have been occurring since the 1820s, primarily around naval operations to make ports for ships and submarines. Locals told me the Keys have grown anywhere from half again to double in size, and seeing a few really rough maps, I believe it. Anyway, this radome is probably about as far south as you get on Key West, and you can see it from the Southernmost Point marker, but I wouldn’t recommend trying to go take a selfie with it.

It’s very likely the marker is on the original southernmost point of the “original” footprint of the island, if you’re willing to consider only recent geological history. It’s probably the most southern publicly accessible part in any case. That or some of the piers a few blocks East. Go check those out too.

What you might overlook if you wait in line for the Southernmost Point is this statue of Bishop Albert Key. The Monroe County Tourist Development Council wrote a nice article on the statue, the artist, the history of the area…and all way more efficiently than I write. The bishop (and his father before him) would wave, welcoming visitors to the Southernmost point, blowing into his conch shell. It sounds like conchs were culturally a big part of the Keys, particularly Key West, but the bishops definitely did their part to make them iconic.

Sadly, the Bishop Albert Key passed away in 2003, but we have this statue to commemorate his work. That would’ve been really cool to have seen, and I could’ve reasonably caught it if I had gone to the Keys when I was younger. That’s the thing: time moves on. It was moving on before us, and will move on after us. Even if seeing all the things were feasible (it’s not, I checked airfare) we can’t also manage that through time as well. I really enjoy seeing monuments like this - there are some things that are simply important enough to memorialize. None of us can see Bishop Albert Key’s welcome any longer. You can at least know that this was an important piece of history.

USCGC Ingham

The US Coast Guard Cutter Ingham WHEC-35, is a Treasury-class Cutter. She is a highly decorated ship, getting on close to 90 years old now. The museum and Wikipedia will share that one of the Ingham’s claims to fame is the sinking of U-626. The museum and Wikipedia will also tell you the Ingham was 200 nautical miles away from the sinking of U-626 and there was no evidence she was involved. From what little I could tell, this seems to be more a matter of confusion in the historical record, during an uncertain time with imprecise measurements where multiple engagements were occurring, and some wires most likely just got crossed. Still, she traveled the world until becoming a floating museum. I believe that was the 90s, and Key West wasn’t her first home, but if you want to see the USCGC Ingham today, head to the entrance of Fort Zachary Taylor Historic State Park. You can’t miss her.

Today the USCGC Ingham remains a museum, though a private one, “receiv[ing] no financial assistance from any Federal, State, or City government.” It shows. The crew of the museum are obviously very serious about their work, and love this ship dearly, but there’s only so many hands, aging hands, fighting hard for a youth both ship and crew will not see return. Ships are expensive to maintain, and even after retrofits, much of the needs of a ship like this are custom one-off works. A plaque shares its designation as a National Historic Landmark in 1992 by the National Park Service. I wonder what kinds of assistance programs are available for museums like this. Programs do exist, though I’m no expert here and maybe there’s reasons it doesn’t qualify. Maybe it’s just subbornness.

If it’s important enough to be a National Historic Landmark, though, surely it’s worthy of some support so we all can have an opportunity to see it.

I had a blast on this ship, not the least of which because of how my tour ended (more on that in a bit). This issue is already so long, so I’ll try to stick to a few neat things, but this was definitely a highlight of my trip. I really enjoyed the fruits of the refurbishment efforts, as you can see some of the real mundane things about life on a ship. Compare, for example, sailor bunks vs officer’s quarters:

One of the first things you see when boarding the ship, before you even pay for entry, is a restored ship’s surgery. It looked more like a dental practice, cramped, but well appointed for its task. A hatch opened to the deck, and you can look in through a plexiglass box to see the incredibly efficient use of space. If a life was to be saved, it was probably here - when this ship was built in the 1930s, and through much of its service life, help could be weeks away.

What happens when the ship sees combat? What happens if there’s need for more surgery capacity? I’m glad you asked: the mess itself becomes one. There’s one table restored with surgery lighting and equipment hanging overhead, and a medical storage locker mere steps away. It isn’t very far forward that we get to combat positions, and this seems a very helpful compromise vs the surgery which was a good bit farther aft. That’s gotta make for interesting meals, though: reminded at every meal that before the next one you might be on the table instead of sitting at it.

I talked about combat positions being not far forward: I couldn’t get a good picture of the process, but shells were stored in a magazine below. A pipe came up with what looked like a belt-fed lift system, right into a space directly behind the main guns. If I understood correctly, a loader would have to pick up the shell, and move it over to another pipe that fed into the main guns. This part of the load process was smack dab in the center of the forward part of the ship. the radio center was a deck above, armory (for small arms for the crew) directly behind. Pictures don’t really do it justice: seeing this in person, imagining standing there, your job to shuttle pounds to tens of pounds of explosives in a metal can between pipes and not screw it up.

The USCGC Ingham is a thing to be seen. Honestly, it probably would’ve ranked its own issue if I came home with a book and had more context to put behind things. I tried building more information out of pictures of plaques, but it’s just not something I can do with the time I have for this project.

It’s a shame: the folks who maintain the museum are very dedicated. The good news is, you can pick their brains all you want. The ship has a bar on board, with very reasonable beer for a tourist spot in Key West, a great view, and incredibly knowledgeable staff. There is no collection, no effort to preserve the knowledge that is stored in the full and rich lives of the caretakers of the Ingham. Talk their ear off. It broke my heart when I asked why nobody had written a book, and got essentially a shrug. “Well, why not you?” I asked. Not really much of a writer, was the answer. I understand that, deeply. It’s going to be really sad when that knowledge is gone though.

This newsletter is about the things I’ve seen. But sometimes, seeing is not enough. It’s sometimes about the things I’ve heard. I’m terrible at relaying those. This visit was about 8 months ago, and my spongy brain has already sopped out so much information, spilling off some metaphorical counter onto the floor where the dog has licked up the soapy effluent. Don’t just go see this one: go spend time and talk this one. I’ve failed to relay even a sliver of what you can find here.

Whew!

Thanks for getting through all this! Or, at least the parts you did. Or for skipping to the end to see if there's any good meta-information. There's not, I'm afraid. Next up I believe will be some houses: the Hemingway Pfeiffer house, the Truman Little White House, and … why not, a lighthouse. See you next time!

Thanks for joining me, where I’m one of today’s lucky 10,000! I hope you enjoyed it. Here’s all the beehiiv stuff that is required to be here.

— Lou