Mural Mystery Solved (Mostly)

With the help of friends, I was recently able to solve a mystery that I first stumbled across in 2009 connected to a photograph from 1937. I first came across the image while I was diving into the archives of the Joy Postle Collection to source images for an article to be published in Reflections magazine. Thanks to Denise Hall, the collection at UCF is quite extensive and includes artwork, photographs and even the artist's diary she kept during the 1930s. The photo that intrigues me so much was of a group of dignified people, gathered in front of a large painting of a Seminole Indian. On the back in pen is written:

1937

W.P.A. Art Project

Trip to U. of F. Gainesville

Joy P. Don Emory

M. Runyon in Center

Special Collections & University Archives Libraries

University of Central Florida

I recently returned to the archives while researching Joy Postle's Casa Iberia mural on the Rollins College campus and was reminded that I had never figured out the location of the image, who painted the beautiful artwork, or who the rest of the people in the photo were. So I reached out to Flo Turcotte at the Archives at UF and she enlisted the help of fellow archivist Sarah Coates.  It was she who discovered the location of the image:

"Found it! It was over the fireplace in the Bryan Lounge that was in the Florida Union, now Dauer Hall. I have no idea if this painting is still there, nor do I know what the old Bryan Lounge was turned into once the building was no longer the Florida Union.

 She also sent links showing the space with the painting: 

https://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00046690/00001/images

https://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00029575/00001/images

https://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00029862/00001/images

https://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00044644/00001/images/0

To find out if the painting was still hanging on campus, I turned to Pam Marlin, an Instagram contact who works at UF and has done incredible then and now photo work on campus – you can explore her site here. Here was her response to my inquiries about the paintings whereabouts: 

"I don’t believe the painting is still hanging in the building. I’ve been to Dauer Hall many times over the years, mostly for events at the Keene Faculty Center (created when Dauer Hall was renovated in the 1990s).  The room with the fireplace and painting may have been part of today's faculty center, however, this particular area has been subdivided. It is now configured into multiple rooms that house the Classics Department (with the Religion Department upstairs). 

I walked over to Dauer today and captured a photo of the SE corner of the building where I think the original fireplace and painting were (see attached).  Visible in the photo is an exterior view of the large bay window (seen in the old interior photos) and exterior chimney stacks (suggesting a fireplace).    I also walked into the Classics Department area specifically looking for the bay window and the fireplace, but the space is now divided into many rooms, some wood-paneled, with no fireplace or a view of the large bay window. My guess is that the fireplace was either covered or removed during renovation, and possibly the painting along with it.  The beautiful interior arches have been removed as well."

Courtesy Pam Marlin

Pam later went inside Dauer Hall and reported:

"I walked over to Classics again and talked briefly with Robert Wagman, former Classics department chair (2009).  His office is located along the same wall as the fireplace (between the fireplace and the bay window) and it has the original dark wood paneling.  He told me that there is a wall over the fireplace, and likely the mural as well.  He took me to the room where it was located and tapped on the hollow wall.  He mentioned that when he was chair he encouraged them to open the wall, which they did not.  I have attached a photo (it is the back wall)." 

Courtesy Pam Marlin

As disappointed as I was that the painting is no longer viewable on campus, I was thrilled when both Pam and Sarah discovered the name of the artist who painted it: Fred Madden. Madden both attended and taught at UF. He painted the mural in 1936, the year before the photograph was taken. I found an article with photos of both the mural and a photo of the artist, and that allowed me to identify him in the group photo, standing front and center, just left of Joy Postle. 

From the Miami News, Oct. 1945

Madden, apparently an accomplished muralist like Postle, taught art at Camp Roosevelt, as did Postle, so it is likely they knew each other. Sorting out the other folks in the photo is a bit of challenge. Artist Manny Runyon, mentioned in the inscription on the back, appears to be the bearded fellow near the center of the image. O. C. R. Stageberg, UF professor of art and architecture could be the be to the right of Runyon, but it is difficult to be sure. It's also possible that Eve Alsman Fuller, an important figure at Camp Roosevelt, and an acquaintance of Postle, is one of the women on the left. Other possible people in attendance include Warren Doolittle, Van H. Ferguson, and William F. Lockwood. That aspect of the mystery still remains unsolved!

Freedom Walk 2025 – Looking for the Heart of Orlando

 

This morning, I did my usual Fourth of July freedom ride/walk. There are two reasons I chose this day for a photo safari: there’s very little traffic on a holiday, and nothing feels freer than walking around or cycling around while taking pictures.  People are sleeping-in knowing that they have an evening ahead of obnoxious fireworks and badly burned frankfurters. This year I set out once again on foot. My main objective was to check out Church Street, in particular the property that used to be my former work place, Church Street Station.

I got to downtown early. It was mostly the unhoused and a few caffeine-addicted, coffee seekers. Despite the City’s best efforts, Orlando has never solved its homeless problem and when there are not downtown workers present it’s even more obvious. 

This year I’m not feeling patriotic. The so-called Alligator Alcatraz in the Everglades shows the cruelty and inhumanity present in our country and I am repelled by it. Trump's big, beautiful bill is going to harm a bunch of his big beautiful people and send this country further and further backwards. It’s hard for me to feel rah, rah, go America! these days. So, my initial foray onto Church Street does nothing to help my feelings of doom and gloom (my voice transcription app wrote “demon glue” instead of doom and gloom.)

My memories of youthful days as a member of the good time gang –  partying with abandon in beautiful showrooms – surrounded by beautiful people – are slapped hard by the reality of the decay around me.  Not a single building in the entire Church Street Station complex is currently being utilized. The only hint of commerce is a sign for a ghost tour.

Orlando's 19th-century growth was closely tied to the arrival of the railroad in 1880. This is the third depot erected at this location; the first two were made of wood. Orlando's first tourists stepped off the train here. Today it is lost within a sea of high rise buildings and ill-placed signs. It seems like there is visual cutter everywhere...

The reason for this foray into my past is that I’ve been thinking about Church Street (constantly) since I agreed to do a talk at the History Center later in July. I’ve learned through my research that the amount of history that occurred in this one short block in downtown Orlando is astounding, and I keep finding more to confirm that. But I am appalled by the little regard given to this historic street these days. When Bob Snow came to town in the early ‘70s, he was able to see beyond the urban decay to find the good bones underneath a crumbling veneer. He was able to build on that foundation and make something the likes of which Central Florida had never seen before – an adult wonderland of nostalgia, wrapped in the rhythms of the past, that grew into a bottomless mug of good times. (A beer metaphor seemed appropriate.) I feel like the good bones of his creation are still intact, but the skin is sagging, and age marks are starting to appear. It's time for the next Bob Snow to step up and bring Church Street back to life again.

The City's pretty new banners for the 150th anniversary of incorporation contrast starkly to the magic of my memories made in these now empty buildings.

I worked hard to find vestiges from the Church Street attraction where I came of age. I'm sure part of my metaphysical angst about the condition of the buildings are tied to fears of my own aging... 

As I left Church Street to continue exploring downtown, this sign along the track seemed fitting for the aging complex: "SEEK HELP/FIND HOPE."

Moving beyond Church Street, I found more evidence of the downtown that used to be the playground of my youth combined with the historic buildings that I have learned to love. The Tinker Building, built by a Hall of Fame Major Leaguer who brought the big leagues to O-town, looks dwarfed by the 21st century. The Rose Building also looks squeezed between the Angebilt on the right and another high rise on the left. Rose was a State Senator, developer of 1920s neighborhoods, and was influential in the creation of several of Orlando's wonderful parks. 

As I worked my way towards Lake Eola, the site of tonight's big fireworks display, I notice my mood started to improve, unburdened perhaps of the weight of my memories.  People walked dogs, tourists posed for pictures, and food vendors moved into position along the lake. The population of swans, however, still exceed the number of early morning Fourth of July visitors – in my opinion, we have enough swans now. Time to stop collecting. 

When I first moved to Orlando, even before I started working at Church Street, I would visit the newly-renovated Lake Eola to jog. I was miserable, friendless and dateless, removed from my family for the first time in my life, and a visit to the park lifted my spirits. Working at Church Street permanently removed me from that funk, and I can connect the dots from where I am today, to my time working there. That's why I am so saddened to see the entire Church Street block in a funk.

But on this day, Lake Eola is starting to work its magic. As diverse groups of people start to congregate, I remember that this place is really the heart of Orlando. At least on the Fourth of July. 

Happy Independence Day! Let the Good Times Roll!

• Freedom Walk 2023
• Freedom Ride 2010
• Freedom Ride 2012
• Freedom Ride 2013
• Freedom Ride 2014
• Freedom Ride 2015
• Freedom Ride 2017

Award-winning design emerges from the ashes of Silver Springs fire

In December 1934, an advance group of four Seminole men began building a Seminole Village on a three-acre site, east of the swimming beach at Silver Springs. A group of 50 to 60 Seminole men, women, and children camped inside the park in an odd "living history" attraction near the same springs inhabited by Native Americans for hundreds of years (at least) prior. But this time they were on display for tourists visiting Silver Springs where they practiced traditional Seminole crafts and sold them as souvenirs.

The Seminole were apparently still living there early on the morning of June 15, 1955, when a young Seminole girl heard the sounds of a roaring fire and alerted Chief Robert Osceola. The Seminole leader then notified Oliver Allen of the Allen Reptile Institute, but by the time he reached the blaze the damage had been done. "Fire Guts Silver Springs" read the headline of the Orlando Evening Star, and the amount of destruction was estimated at a quarter of million dollars. "We are already making plans for a new building" Bill Ray, head of publicity for the attraction, was quoted as saying almost immediately. Then-owners of the park, W. Carl Ray Sr. and "Shorty" Davidson, quickly identified Sarasota architect Victory Lundy as the man to design the replacement buildings, and they quickly met and agreed on the scope of the project. 

The curved-building Lundy would design gracefully followed the contours of the famed spring basin where glass bottom boats floated above Mammoth Spring, the big reveal at the end of the magical ride over Florida's greatest natural wonder. The promenade fronted a 56,000 sq. ft. building with huge plate-glass windows, a staple of many mid century commercial buildings of what has come to be referred to as "Googie Architecture."  The flooring would be terrazzo, also standard for Florida mid-century architecture, but the entire structure would be air conditioned – then a novelty. 

A gushing newspaper review proclaimed that the new "sleeker structures" were constructed of "Sierra tan bricks" and featured the "abundant use of steel and glass." The new gift shop provided visitors with a "lovely tropical setting" and grounds surrounding the building have been "beautifully landscaped and provide great picture possibilities." The praise was well-deserved as Lundy's designs were recognized with accolades from Progressive Architecture magazine in 1956 and an award of merit by the AIA's national design competition in 1959. 

About the Architect

Victor Lundy from the Library of Congress

Lundy studied architecture at Harvard under the modernist legend and Bauhaus founder Walter Gropius.  He moved to Florida in 1951 and became part of what is now termed the Sarasota School of Architecture. On the occasion of his 100th birthday last year, world-architects.com posted this:

Lundy was trained in the Beaux Arts tradition at NYU (an education interrupted by WWII, where he earned a Purple Heart, a Victory Medal, and other honors) before venturing to Harvard GSD to learn by the Bauhaus method; such a traditional/modern education in architecture is, needless to say, a rarity. Following his Master of Architecture degree in 1948, a traveling scholarship, and years working for firms in New York City before licensure, he left for Florida and became a “member” of the so-called Sarasota School of Architecture. He designed houses, schools, and religious structures there in the 1950s before moving back to New York at the end of the decade, where he would work until the early 1980s, when he became a partner at HKS in Houston.

From the Library of Congress

from Wikimedia Commons

He created designs for many notable structures during his time in Florida – perhaps none as unforgettable as the breathtaking motel at Warm Mineral Springs.  Architect Magazine said this of the remarkable award-winning plan for the motor inn:

The U-shaped motel has a series of single-loaded rooms, entered from perimeter parking and overlooking a lushly planted courtyard. Above the rooms stand 14-foot-square, precast-concrete hyperbolic-paraboloid roofs that alter­nate in height. As originally constructed according to Lundy’s design, Plexiglas clerestories made the roofs appear to float, especially at night, with their undersides illuminated from within. “Designed to stop traffic,” Lundy said, the inverted roofs evoked the “fountain of youth” of the nearby warm mineral springs.

From Architect Magazine

From Life Magazine

Warm Mineral Springs Motel, 2011

The Lundy Center

Silver Springs has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. I grew up in Gainesville and before Disney World opened, all of our out-of-town guests were treated to a visit to Silver Springs. After I became an adult and moved to Orlando, years would pass between visits, but I experienced the Park in its many phases. My Dad and I almost missed a Johnny Cash concert because we were on the glass bottom boat. My wife and I visited on my birthday when the Park was full of exotic animals and a revolving tower lifted you over the spring. And when I heard stories of how the springs were impaired, I rented a canoe and discovered for myself how poor the water quality had become.

Throughout these changes Victor Lundy's pavilion has endured. When the State purchased the property, ending the roadside attraction era, the building showed its age. I had mixed opinions on my first few visits to Silver Springs State Park – I love the ability to kayak around the headspring but there was a huge void where all the animals and attractions had once been. The gift shop seemed a bit sad and the food offerings were underwhelming.

I visited last month, however,  and was pleased with what I witnessed. The parking lot was full and people were lined up to drop off their kayaks, canoes, and paddle boards. Lundy's building, now called "Lundy Center," had a new restaurant with a diverse menu and fun bar.  I ordered a falafel pita pocket and it was made fresh and very tasty. On this spring day the basin was full of people, paddling and experiencing what was formerly Florida's best attended tourist attraction and is now a much used State Park. 

March 2024

The Lundy Center still has issues – the restrooms were being renovated and based on appearances, they really needed a makeover. Exhibits from Silver Springs's glory days were scattered around in poorly lit areas and could do with better curation. But I could see behind the large plate glass windows, one area of the Lundy Center was being used for a private event, probably a wedding reception. The building now has a whole new life as a venue and as more resources are committed to its restoration, the space should only get better. 

Photographer: Lyn Larson | MAHAL IMAGERY

Just past Lundy's sweeping pavilion an interpretive marker explains the significance of the building's architect and introduces Lundy to a whole new audience who may never have heard of the Sarasota School of Architecture. In an op-ed I recently penned for the Sarasota Herald-Tribune, I proposed that the buildings at Warm Mineral Springs, designed by Jack West, another member of the Sarasota School of Architecture, might receive the same treatment. Currently, those structures are in rough shape and demolition is being considered. But one needs only to look to Silver Springs to see the potential for restoration and renewal. 

Salt Springs – "A Magical Place Forever"?

My favorite memory of Salt Springs in the Ocala National Forest is when I camped there with my high school soccer coach and his son, who was my teammate. Coach Young was from Jamaica and he had a diving light and a spear gun (which I never got to use.😢) It was winter and the water felt comfortably warm compared to the thirty-some degree air temperatures. We swam in the spring at night and the dive light would catch streaking flashes of mullet – fleeting explosions of mercury through the water. It was creepy swimming through large swathes of eel grass to get to where the spring boils were – they were the only relief from the submerged underwater vegetation because they were surrounded by limestone. 

My Dad and I also fished Salt Run for bass using special floating plastic worms that we purchased from my favorite tackle store in Welaka. I had a tackle box full of these brightly colored lures that I only used a handful of times. I don't remember catching anything there but my I'm sure Dad did. He always did.

My excuse for checking in on the spring this year was avoiding holiday traffic on the interstate. Truth is I've been itching to go back to experience the spring as an adult. It's just under $13 for a day use pass to enter the Salt Springs Recreational Area. There are campgrounds and a short loop trail through a swamp in addition to the facilities at the spring head. On this overcast December day there was only one other car in the parking lot and only two other individuals at the spring. Beautiful live oaks surround the institutional-looking buildings that front the spring – one a store (closed), the other a bathhouse. The spring basin itself, which is quite large, is enclosed by a large manila-colored wall. 

Another reason for visiting was to take look at the manmade infrastructure there. One of my interests is how our culture treats manmade wonders like Salt Springs. I once did a talk called "Piped, Pooled, and Protected" on the topic. In my estimation the Park Service's "enhancements" such as the wall around the basin made undoubtedly function well by preventing erosion around the spring head, but they don't foster a feeling of connection to nature. 

As I remembered the spring was full of interesting aquatic life – schools of mullet, blue crab, what appeared to be Jacks(?), as well as the occasional bass and bream. New to the spring was the invasive armored catfish that seem to be the scourge of any spring I visit in Central Florida. I call them Plecos, short for Hypostomus plecostomus. 

There were also at least a half dozen manatees just outside the spring head near the start of the run, hovering near the bottom of the shallow water just beneath the surface of the water. I have been told that the numbers of wintering manatees at the springs along the St. Johns River is increasing due to the degregation of Indian River Lagoon. One obvious change is the lack of submerged aquatic growth– all that pesky eel grass I hated as a kid. There was no visible eel grass or any plant life beneath the surface. I wondered what the manatees found there for substance.

I didn't bring my swimming gear so I was envious of the one lone snorkeler who floated among the manatees all by himself. The water felt warm, like it did when I was a kid, and I was filled with remorse for not schlepping my swim trunks, mask, and fins. 

If I remember my research correctly, early owners of the spring, including the Townsend family who owned Orange Spring, saw the potential of the unique saline characteristics of the springs there, but no one developed a spa on the property to my knowledge. In the 1970s the campground facilities between the spring and Lake Kerr were developed by one of the owners of Silver Springs. An interesting community still exists outside the Park Service's recreational area and it appears to be mostly retirees living the good life in Florida.

This 1925 article from a Miami newspaper suggests that Salt Springs did in fact have perceived "curative" properties and developers Glenn Curtiss and James Bright were considering building a spa there. The two would eventually sell their Miami Springs Hotel to John Harvey Kellogg as the Florida site for his Battle Creek Sanitarium.

I have often claimed that every spring in Florida that was developed commercially in Florida would at some point be touted as the Fountain of Youth. The claim is made in this 1970 article when it was owned by the Ray family who also owned Silver Springs.  

Vintage postcard of Salt Springs from an internet auction site

My favorite historical image of Salt Springs is author Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings standing in a row boat with a blue crab dangling in the air at the end of a stick. Whether this was a posed publicity photo or just a moment of Old Florida loving captured on film, I'll never know. The photo captures what Rawlings' life in the area seemed to have been like or at least my perception of that ideal.

I loved to write "compare and contrast" papers in school, I think it appeals to the analytical side of my brain I seemed to have inherited from my father. In comparing the Salt Springs of my childhood memories with the spring of the present day, there were some elements of consistency that were reassuring and nostalgic. It was an unexpected thrill to see the colony of manatees. But it was disappointing to see the lack of submerged aquatic vegetation that placed me as a kid. There is limited interpretation of the history and environment of the spring, just handful of panels in the breezeway of the bathhouse. The panels are well done, but very dated.  One panel dubs the spring a "Magical Place Forever." The lack of imagination in the built environment around around the spring, however, is anything but magical today. It's park-like setting doesn't enhance the natural features but rather simply contain them. I've often said that all Florida's springs are magical places and that is certainly true at Salt Springs. But we could do a better job of allowing that magic really shine with better curation of this marvelous place. 

Archival photo from the State Archives of Florida

Archival photo from the State Archives of Florida

Apparently no martini drinking allowed at Salt Springs

Is that a Jack swimming in the spring boil?

Design looks to be done in the 1980s based on the typography.

Lovely illustration of one of the spring's early inhabitants.