Saturday, June 6, 2020

A Winter Eden for Victorian-era Visitors

Twenty-first century Florida is a casual place – flip flops, tank tops, and shorts are accepted as appropriate attire for almost any situation. The amount of skin revealed at the beach is quite generous and thongs are considered adequate bathing attire. I have observed that when images of Victorian tourists in outdoor situations in Florida are posted on social media, invariably comments are made regarding the significant amount of clothing worn by these visitors. A typical comment is "how did they not pass out wearing stuff like that?" or "I would be miserable wearing that in the heat humidity." See comments on the image above. 

State Archives of Florida
State Archives of Florida
State Archives of Florida

Travelers to our state in the Gilded Age were restricted by rigid, judicious standards of dress (and long sleeves were added protection against the ever-present mosquitoes.) Plus pale skin was considered desirable as those with tans generally were outdoor laborers and freckles were unwelcome for proper Victorian ladies. Another factor in the inordinate amount of clothing was that initially, many of the visitors to the state were not in robust health, as many came to the Sunshine State as invalids, and they dressed like it.

But the main reason that so many early visitors to Florida were covered in clothing, from the top of their head to bottom of their heals, was that the overwhelming majority of visitors to the state came during the winter months.

A Place for Consumptives
Tuberculosis, what Victorians called consumption, was the plague of the nineteenth century, and although Robert Koch identified the bacteria that caused the disease in 1882, it was not effectively diminished until the 1950s. In Europe during the nineteenth century, one in four deaths were attributed to tuberculosis and the sanatorium movement emerged because people believed fresh air and taking the waters could bring relief from this disabling disease. Many of Florida's first visitors were sent south by doctors who thought Florida's sunshine and healing waters might help their patients. As early as 1823, just a couple years after Florida was transferred to the United States from Spain, a book called "Observations Upon the Floridas" touted that the climate was good for patients of "consumptive habit" and the physicians should send invalids to Florida in winter rather than "an expensive journey to the south of France and Italy." Eventually, the percentage of invalid travelers diminished and the amount of leisure visitors increased, but the state was originally perceived as America's sanatorium. 

America's Winter Resort
The Florida winter travel business began before the Civil War as hostilities between the U.S. Government and the Seminoles diminished, and advancements in travel made to easier for leisure travelers to get to Florida. Steamers began to travel to North Florida from New York in the 1840s. From Jacksonville, riverboats could take visitors as far south as Enterprise in present-day Volusia County. The Civil War temporarily suspended travel, but when peace came so did the visitors from the north. In the 1870s, the railroad made its way to the state, and according to Floyd and Marion Rinhart, authors of "Victorian Florida: America's Last Frontier," the 1880s brought an intense rivalry between rail and ship routes to Florida.

According to the Rinharts, the last two weeks of February and the first two weeks of March were initially the most popular times of the year, but eventually, the season expanded to include most of the winter and much of spring. But even as people came for the favorable climate and salubrious sunshine, there were plenty of cold days. And much of the travel around the turn of the century was in the northern part of the state, which is considerably cooler than the central and southern Florida. On February 13, 1899, temperatures dipped to 2 degrees below zero in Tallahassee. Jacksonville chronicler T. Frederick Davis wrote that the lowest temperature ever recorded in Jacksonville was on February 8, 1835 when it fell to 8 degrees and “scarcely a winter passes without a temperature at some time as low as freezing.”

Freeze in Melbourne, Feb. 8, 1890

The Great Freeze
Another great example of just how cold it could be in Florida was the state's "Great Freeze" – actually two separate freezes in the winter of 1894-95. When the first freeze hit on December 29, 1894 – temperatures of 18 degrees in Orlando killed the citrus. Many of the mature orange trees survived, however, but a second freeze on February 7, 1895 wiped out groves across the state. It took decades for the citrus industry to rebound and large scale citrus production never returned to North Florida.

Rockledge grove of Alfred Trafford after the freeze (State Archives of Florida)

Winter Cities in a Summer Land
Despite these occasional cold temperatures, Florida's reputation as the go-to place for those seeking solace from northern winters only increased as the state developed. In the summertime, well-to-do Victorians flocked to northern vacation spots like Cape May, Atlantic City, Martha's Vineyard, and Newport. In winter Palm Beach and Miami were popular, thanks in large part to Henry Flagler. Advertising for his Florida East Coast Railway helped create an image of Florida as a tropical paradise, especially in winter.

Marketing has always been a big part of luring people to the Sunshine State in winter, so what better way to get people to come to your town, than have winter right in your town's name? Central Florida has Winter Park, Winter Garden, Winter Springs, and Winter Haven. The Interlachen Winter Resort Company promoted "winter homes in a summer land" in efforts to sell real estate in Interlachen, Florida in 1887. A pamphlet from the same era created by the Fort George Island Company bragged that despite a few chilly days in December, the winter was mostly "mellow, golden days" and that their island climate was far more invigorating than that of the mainland.

State Archives of Florida

Bathing in Winter
Many of the images of Victorians in Florida that receive Facebook comments about our "over-dressed" visitors show people at the beach. One of the biggest draws for visitors to our state in winter was its waters. Our beaches attracted sea bathers and springs, which seem freezing to us today at 72 degrees, were actually considered hot springs! But if you consider the air temperature outside was much colder, the water might actually feel comfortable. 

So the next time you see an image of Gilded Age travelers in the Sunshine State clad in far too many clothes, note that these are individuals following the fashions of the day and it might actually be a chilly winter day at the beach! 

This ad for the Clarendon House refers to the "Green Cove Warm Sulphur Spring"

You can learn more about the Gilded Age in Florida in my second book, Florida's Healing Waters. You can pre-order the book from the publisher's website; it will likely ship sometime in August.

Monday, May 11, 2020

Hold the Line: Sea Bathing in Florida

The beaches of Florida have been in the news quite a bit lately. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the state has wrestled with whether to keep them open for exercise and recreation or shut them down as a way of enforcing social distancing. Images of crowded beaches full of spring breakers reinforced the absurdity of the governor's early policy to limit the spread of the virus. "The beaches are the state’s definitive cultural, physical asset and economic asset" stated an article in the Tampa Bay Times that reviewed the state's inconsistent policies of beach closures.

But to Florida's first visitors of European descent, its beaches were not considered an asset at all – there are no accounts of 16th century Spaniards shedding their armor to bask in their new colony's sun and surf. But near the dawn of the 20th century, Florida's salubrious seashore began to be developed, and one of the primary reasons was that it was believed that sea bathing was beneficial for one's health. Victorian-era bathers, somewhat timidly, eased their way into the surf, even if they didn't know how to swim.

The Power of Water
By the time that Europeans reached the New World, they had a complex relationship with the sea and water itself, recognizing it both as the substance that sustained life and a force that could have incredible destructive qualities. Early civilizations attributed water's power to spiritual entities living beneath the waves, and ancient cultures both feared and revered water. In "The Beach: The History of Paradise on Earth" by Lena Lencek and Gideon Bokser, they describe ancient man's relationship with the beach as a "liminal space of encounters between Manichean forces of good and evil: between earth and water, man and nature, the civil and the savage, life and death." In order to see the beach as a source of recreation and restoration, man had to first "shed the shackles of mythology" and perhaps, more importantly, the concept of free time, "the most radical and most elusive of human commodities," had to be invented.

"Mythical monsters swarmed in the depths of the seas,
preying on sailors and unwary swimmers" according to Lencek and Bosker
The practice of visiting the beach for health and leisure originated in the eighteenth century and was the result of two developments. The first was the Grand Tour, where well-to-do gentlemen re-discovered the culture of the ancient world while touring the European continent. The second development that led to sea bathing was the ancient practice of taking the waters by soaking in and drinking water from mineral springs. The 18th-century saw an eruption of elaborate spas at mineral springs that led to a culture of bathing throughout Europe at places such as Bath, England, and Spa, Belgium.

"The sons of elite English families of the 17th,18th, and early 19th centuries often spent two to four years traveling around Europe as an extension of their education to broaden their horizons and learn about language, architecture, geography, and culture in an experience known as the Grand Tour." - Antique Almanac
Spa, Belgium: figures making their way towards the Pouhon mineral fountain, 1762.

The Evolution of Sea Bathing
Bathing in seawater for medicinal purposes originated at the seaside town of Scarborough on England's northeastern coast. While sea-loving cultures of Mediterranean often reveled in recreational pursuits at the beach, it was a novel idea to enter the sea intentionally in the cold, murky waters of England. But when sea bathing for healthful purposes became the vogue in the 1700s, the coast of Britain was bursting with seaside resorts in places like Brighton, Weymouth, Margate, and Blackpool. The phenomena spread beyond Britain, according to Lencek and Bokser, and the monopoly of the "therapeutic British beach was gradually challenged along the Atlantic seashore." That included seaside resorts in Belgium, Holland, France, and eventually the United States. Bathing machines – covered wagons pulled into the surf – allowed female bathers to enter the water with a degree of modesty (while male bathers often swam naked.) These were popular in England in the nineteenth century as few well-to-do ladies knew how to swim. Attendants called "dippers" assisted bathers in and out of the water.

"Mermaids at Brighton"

Bathing machine circa the 1920s

Sea Bathing in the New World
In the 1800s, Cape May on the Jersey shore became a popular destination to escape from crowded city-life in Philadelphia. Atlantic City appealed to the masses, while the elite found the beaches at places like Bar Harbor, Maine and Newport, Rhode Island more to their liking. Despite the fact that in the early 19th century, most upper-class individuals did not know how to swim, the phenomena of bathing machines was not popular in the States. Swimming was associated with"amusement and physical vigor" which was taboo unless it was undertaken for the purposes of "spiritual or mental development" according to religious beliefs of the period, claims author Jeff Wiltse in the book "Contested Waters." The author claims that the paradigm around swimming began to shift around the midcentury, as the growing middle class, as well as upper classes, started to spend time in seaside resorts and rural retreats dubbed "watering places." With the industrial revolution came increased leisure time and it became acceptable to travel for pleasure and recreation, a concept heretofore unheard of. In America, social reforms were linked to health movements and the then-novel idea of eating a healthy diet and exercising regularly became popular, preached by reformers such as Dr. Harvey Kellogg at his Battle Creek Sanitarium. Bathing and swimming were considered desirable, healthy pursuits.

The bathe at Newport  from Harper's Weekly, 1858
Breathing exercises at the Battle Creek Sanitarium

Discovering the Beaches of Florida
Florida's early cities developed at sites where there were good safe harbors for sailing vessels, but until the 19th century, most of the coastline was underutilized at it was seen to possess little value for agriculture or commerce. Key West, St. Augustine, and Pensacola were the most populated cities, and they all were believed to possess therapeutic waters for sea bathing. But it wasn't until after the Civil War, when northerners started venturing into the state in large numbers to escape harsh winters, that the state's coasts started being seen as an asset. The elegant seaside resorts created along the Atlantic by Henry Flagler, helped establish Florida as the "American Riviera."

Advertising published by the Florida East Coast Railway
Winter bathing is featured in this FEC Railway brochure

Sea bathing, (also called surf bathing), was an essential part of the appeal of these Gilded Age retreats, and photos of the beach from this era show the popularity of the beach. What is also evident, is that despite the growth of popularity in swimming, many of the visitors to the beach were inexperienced swimmers at best. "Lifeguard observation towers, cork-filled life belts, and the surf reel–a giant spool of strong rope– became standard pieces of surfside equipment, "writes Lencek and Bosker. In photos of the beaches at Flagler's Palm Beach resorts produced by the Detroit Publishing Co., safety lines are evident extending far into the surf. Based on postcards and photos of this time period, these safety lines were a critical part of the beach experience, offering means for bathing to those who could not swim. Safety lines are often seen in images of springs where visitors took the waters as well. Eventually, as the popularity of swimming grew, Flagler built saltwater pools surrounded by bathing casino structures and staffed by swimming instructors.

A postcard shows safety line extending into the surf in Miami
The safety line extends across the image from left to right
Note the safety line featured in this image from Palm Beach
Sea bathers in Pensacola (FHS image)

At the dawn of the 20th century in Florida, carefully venturing into the therapeutic surf clutching a safety line was replaced by the practice of recreational swimming. Today, the beach is seen as a vital asset, when Florida Governor Ron DeSantis re-opened the beaches he said it was important for people to have outlets for getting exercise, sunshine and fresh air. After centuries of being ignored, today the healthful energy of the beach is considered essential to the state's residents and its economy.

The history of sea bathing in the Sunshine State is further explored in my upcoming book, "Florida's Healing Waters," scheduled for publication this fall by the University Press of Florida.

Sunday, February 2, 2020

St. Augustine's Gilded Age Tourist Amusements

This blog and all my subsequent writing is the direct result of my fascination with the city of St. Augustine. My wife and I visit at least once a year, and I never seem to run out of entertainment options, despite the fact that I've making treks to the ancient city my whole life. There are both high brow and low brow offerings  – from spectacular architecture and sophisticated museums to cheesy gift shops and campy tourist traps. I can't seem to get enough of either.

The Gilded Age visitor would have had also had a variety of entertainment options and as the city exploded with travelers in the last few decades of the nineteenth century there was no excuse for ennui on a visit to St. Augustine. If you were staying at a hotel in the Flagler system, (the Ponce de Leon, Alcazar, or Cordova) it was almost like staying in an all-inclusive resort. The list of leisure activities was vast and varied from cakewalks, dances, and concerts at the Ponce to a spa experience across the street at the Alcazar – complete with gymnasium and an enormous indoor swimming pool. Outdoor activities included tennis, golf and baseball (both played on the grounds outside the fort), and the ever-popular Victorian pastime of bicycling.

Swimming in the pool of the Alcazar Hotel was a favorite activity of Victorian visitors to St. Augustine. Image from the Library of Congress. 

Promenading on the seawall; colorized illustration from Harper's Weekly
courtesy of the Matheson History Museum.

Of course, promenading along the seawall was an essential activity, as it was seen as both healthful to inhale the salubrious salt air and it fulfilled a valuable social component to see and be seen by prospective mates and potential rivals. According to the City of St. Augustine website, the historic St. Augustine Seawall has long been "an integral part of the city’s fabric — a coquina sentinel from rough waters, a promenade for romantic strolls and waterside socials." Along the seawall, several other entertainment options presented themselves, the equivalent, perhaps, of the establishments one might find today on present-day St. George Street. Here are a few of my favorite second-tier diversions that competed for the opportunity to separate Victorian visitors from their wallets.

Dr. Vedder's on the left side of the sea wall, Capo's Bath House on the right.

Dr. Vedder's Museum and Menagerie

Dr. John Vedder practiced dentistry in the old city in a Spanish Colonial building not far from the Cathedral. Accreditation for medical doctors and dentists was a bit sketchy in the nineteenth century and it appears likely that Vedder learned his trade from studying his son's dentistry textbooks, (his son earned a dentistry degree from Union College). The senior Dr. Vedder, a native New Yorker who worked on railroads up north, moved to St. Augustine in the late 1870s.

Dr. Vedder on Treasury Street, photo from

Apparently, teeth and trains weren't Vedder's only interests and he, like many Victorians, was an "avid collector of natural specimens and began displaying these specimens in his office," according to this online account. A flattering profile published in the Hartford (Kansas) News states that he began the study of taxidermy in 1876 and soon became an "acknowledged authority on the subject." The article claims that he created the "finest collection of live animals and birds, Indian relics, mounted fish, reptiles, crustaceans, etc. in Florida." Eventually, his collection's popularity dwarfed his dentistry practice, and he began operating Dr. Vedder's Museum and Menagerie across from the Yacht Club, full time.

Looking west down Treasury St. from Bay St., circa 1880.
The gentleman on the right appears to be Dr. Vedder. From the State Archives of Florida. 

Advertisements list the contents of his Curiosity Shop in great detail; "all the most poisonous reptiles on earth," the "St. Augustine Monkey Owl," "Dens of Alligators," and "Oceanic Wonders" including the "Monster Man-Eater Shark." All this and more for a reasonable two-bit admission price.  Vedder's building, located on Bay Street across from the seawall next to Treasury street, sported large painted signage that made it nearly impossible to miss.

African American boys posing in front of Dr. Vedder's Museum on Bay St.
From the State Archives of Florida.

Vintage postcard from the State Archives of Florida. Note the alligator in front of the building. 

This view shows the Sea Wall which was where Gilded Age visitors promenaded.
From the State Archives of Florida. 
The establishment thrived until Vedder's death in 1899 and it eventually came into the possession of the St. Augustine Historical Society. Ads in the 1906 Standard Guide show a rare glimpse inside the building, which in addition to Vedder's collection, included Native American artifacts, "relics" from the Spanish occupation, maps, and more. Sadly, the historic coquina building was destroyed in the fire of 1914.

Treasury Street postcard with a sign for the Museum.
From the State Archives of Florida. 
Rare image of museum interior from the 1906 Standard Guide.

Listing for St. Augustine Historical Museum before the fire.

Capo's Bath House

I'm obsessed with what I call "Florida's Golden Age of Bathing" and I have a book about the subject coming out this fall. St. Augustine's largest spring actually bubbles up in the Atlantic, so taking the waters in the city limits was a bit of a challenge. Capo's Bath House was a perfect solution for those needing a hydropathy fix, especially invalids and hypochondriacs, both of whom frequented St. Augustine in great numbers during the 19th century. The octagonal-shaped building was just south of the fort on Matanzas Bay near the end of Treasury Street across the street from Dr. Vedder's Museum. It had a stone foundation but was mostly made of wood. It was built around 1870 by Philip V. Capo, a descendant of the Minorcans who escaped from Andrew Turnbull's ill-fated colony in New Smyrna. Capo served the Confederacy during the Civil War and after the end of hostilities like so many Floridians of the era, he went to work making money from Yankees.

The sea wall with Capo's Bath House from the Library of Congress.
The facility offered baths in both hot and cold seawater, sulfur water baths, and showers, which were at that time more about hydropathy than hygiene. Capo also rented sailboats from a pier that extended beyond the bath house into the bay. According to writer Stuart B. McIver, women and children would bathe at low tide and then at high tide, a "ball war raised to the top of a wooden pole" to signal it was men's bathing time. Ideally situated adjacent to the promenade, the location was hard to miss, but sadly the structure also burned down in the fire of 1914.  Today you can still see a few of the terracotta-colored steps that led to the bath house along the seawall. The lounge of the famed Conch House Restaurant was created to look like the bathhouse, repeating the same eight-sided design with a similar clerestory.

Detail of Sanborn Fire Insurance map showing the location of Dr. Vedder's Museum
(marked "Curios and Museum") and Capo's Bathhouse on either side of Bay Street.
The lounge of the Conch House Restaurant is an homage to Capo's Bathhouse.

Whitney's Fountain of Youth/Oldest House/Burning Spring Museum

John F. Whitney was another northern entrepreneur who invested in St. Augustine's 19th-century infrastructure, developing the Ravenswood neighborhood beyond the St. Sebastian River and creating several notable attractions. The home of the Massachusetts newspaperman and former politician was constructed on Spengler Island, and there he entertained notable guests there such as Mary Todd Lincoln. Whitney, the grandson of cotton gin inventor Eli Whitney apparently knew notable celebrities of the era including Thomas Edison and P.T. Barnum. Historian Thomas Graham called Whitney the "prototype of the modern Florida land developer," and he published a booklet called "A Brief Account of St. Augustine and Its Environs" to further promote his investments. Much of the booklet is devoted to glowing accounts of the healthful climate of St. Augustine, but it also included floor plans for new houses and a great deal of advice for one interested in making a home in Florida.

Note Ravenswood at the top of this map from the St. Augustine Directory from 1885-86.
Whitney's entire booklet can be viewed here.

As he developed the property around his home, an area he dubbed Ravenswood, he turned to the myth of Ponce de León s quest for waters of immortality as a gimmick to attract potential investors.  He constructed a small observation tower over a small spring and proclaimed it to be the fountain of youth and visitors could drink the famed life-giving elixir. Whitney's Fountain of Youth appears on several tourist maps from the era and an ad in the Standard Guide includes this description:

One of the most historical spots in America, Tonic 

Water, Iron, Iodine and other' medicinal properties. 

CAUTION! Do not drink more than three glasses at one 
time. It acts quickly and takes away that tired feeling. 

According to the St. Augustine Social magazine, the spring was located in West Augustine near the present-day Crookshank Elementary School. This spring attraction is not the same Fountain of Youth Park that was developed by "Diamond Lil" MacConnell around the turn-of-the-century and is still owned and operated by the Frazier family today.

"Whitney's Ponce de Leon Springs Fountain of Youth Tonic Water No. 1513 St. Augustine, Fla." From Dr. Bronson's St. Augustine History Facebook page, used courtesy of the Usina family.

In addition to having multiple Fountains of Youth, St. Augustine had more than one oldest house museum, including Whitney's Oldest House. Whitney's son Everett, leased what is now known as the Gaspar Papy House - Don Toledo House in 1903 and advertised it as "The Oldest House in America, ... built in 1516 by Don Toledo, for his Indian bride, assisted by the Seminole Indians..." But as a historical account in the Library of Congress points out, 1516 is only three years after Ponce de León discovered Florida, 49 years before Pedro Menendez founded St. Augustine, and there were no Seminole Indians in Florida until the 1700s. The house was actually constructed by a Greek named in Gaspar Papy early in the 19th century.  Ads boasted of "mahogany doors, coquina floors, and furnishings over 200 years old." Everett Whitney ran the attraction until 1912 but the next owners continued to operate it under as "Whitney's Oldest House."  The collection was eventually purchased by the St. Augustine Historical Society. 

Interior of Whitney's Oldest House, Library of Congress

Postcards from the State Archives of Florida.
According to Thomas Graham, it was the younger Everett's idea to feature a pen of alligators at the Fountain of Youth location. The genesis of his concept appears to have derived from a single gator that made the unfortunate decision to settle in the spring; soon Whitney had a dozen alligators, in addition to "bears, wildcats, snakes, and other Florida animals." Alligator wrestling attracted more visitors to what was then a remote location in west St. Augustine, but at some point, Whitney moved some of his alligators to South Beach on Anastasia Island near the terminus of the trolley line that traveled between the town and the island. Eventually, the South Beach alligator attraction was taken over by Felix Fire and George Reddington, and they are given credit for being the founders of the St. Augustine Alligator Farm that still exists today.

Could this be Whitney's alligator pen? Photo from a private collection, circa 1900, shared by Tim Jackson on the Historic Florida group on Facebook. Used with permission.

1880s image of the horse-drawn trolley to Anastasia Island
from the State Archives of Florida.
Panoramic image showing the South Beach Alligator Farm and Burning Spring Museum.

Undated photograph of the St. Augustine Alligator Farm
from the State Archives of Florida.
Adjacent to his South Beach alligator pen, Everett Whitney opened a dubious attraction known as the Burning Spring Museum, another attraction full of Florida "curiosities" including an artesian well that when ignited "burned like alcohol." One account testifies that gas was poured on the spring before it was ignited, which might explain its apparent flammability.

"History of the Burning Spring" from the State Archives of Florida.

Here is a description by Hewstone and Hazel Raymenton, travelers to St. Augustine in 1916:
"Soon after crossing the toll bridge we came into sight of the sea.  At about the same time we passed close to the lighthouse which forms such a landmark when viewed from the city.  It is painted in a manner to resemble a stick of black and white peppermint candy . . . At this place there is an alligator farm much like the one we saw at Los Angeles. There may not be so many alligators here but there are more of the large sized specimens. One old monster is said to be fully four hundred years old and there are several others not much younger.  There are, in addition, several huge leather back turtles and cages of numerous different animals and birds. In one room is a collection of reptiles including an iguana and two gila monsters. One diamondback rattlesnake was so excited by the keeper that he rattled loudly for fully five minutes.  Most curious of all is a spring of water, the fumes arising from which can be ignited.  When allowed to rise through a pipe a fierce flame could be got but, strange to say, there seemed to be no burning qualities in it.  The water itself did not have an unpleasant taste." – Hewstone and Hazel Raymenton, 1916, from the holdings of the P.K. Yonge Library of Florida History
Tire advertisement from St. Augustine urging motorists to visit Anastasia Island, circa 1921,
from the State Archives of Florida
Fire and Reddington eventually moved the alligator farm further inland to its current location and the original location of the alligator pens and the burning spring "succumbed to erosion" according to Graham, and both were visible along the shoreline at low tide for many years afterward.

Undated promotional image from the St. Augustine Alligator Farm
from the State Archives of Florida.

Museums, Curiosity Shops, or Both?

The Victorian appetite for Florida's "curiosities" seemed immense – there was another establishment mentioned in the 1885 St. Augustine Directory called "The St. Augustine Museum" with an "almost endless collection" of historical objects, oddities, and novelties.  On the map in the tourist's guide, it is listed in the legend three times, as a "Collection of Old Spanish Relics," a "Circulating Library," and the "Bric-a-Brac and Antiquarian Store." The section preceding the museum's multiple page descriptions is a section titled "Curiosity Stores" that states that there were several establishments where the "natural productions of Florida can be obtained," the foremost being the Fort Marion Store within the Museum. It appears clear than many of the natural oddities on display in museums, could also be purchased.

Larry Roberts, author of "Florida Golden Age of Souvenirs" explains that natural science was a popular hobby among Florida visitors as "Darwinian doctrine fashionably infused Victorian intellect." "One could assume that tourists with dawning scientific curiosities would enjoy whiling away the hours seeking items of intrigue for their developing specimen collections" Roberts explains. "Bio curios" included seashells, exotic bird feathers, alligator teeth, and other miscellaneous items crafted from natural specimens. The line between museum and gift shop seems fuzzy and curio shops appeared to stock their stores with the same historic and natural novelty goods that were on display in museums of the era. The plethora of Florida curio stores in St. Augustine and other destinations is a phenomenon worthy of exploration in a future post.

The Museum was located opposite the fort near the city gates.
Add for a business selling Florida curios in the 1885 St. Augustine Guide.

Is there still a market for offbeat oddities and natural curiosities in the 21st century? One merely needs to look only as far as Ripley's Believe It or Not Odditorium, in operation continuously for 70 years in St. Augustine, to find out the answer is yes. In all my visits to the city, I've never visited Ripley's –  it's just another reason for a return trip.  If I could only purchase a Fiji Mermaid in the gift shop...

The building in the background of this 1892 cyanotype is the Castle Warden
which has served as the home of Ripley's Believe it or Not since 1950.
From the State Archives of Florida. 
Postcard of Fiji Mermaid from Ripley's.