by Bob Kranich
This is a new story titled, Island Flavor. It tells of the historic US military build-up of the Miami area during the Second World War. Our German spy who was dropped off by a “U” boat, has just got a new assignment. He has to leave the house he found and bought in Miami, and proceed immediately to Key West, to observe the submarine base there.
Island Flavor
Seven AM the next morning, saw Peter with two suitcases. One was filled with all the clothes he could pack into it. The other one was the same one with the same equipment he arrived with. This time he went to the other side of the street and caught a bus marked Miami.
Now it was just a few minutes past 12 noon and the big Greyhound bus was up on Highway Number 1 heading south. In less than a couple of hours time they were through Homestead, then Florida City and heading out the causeway towards the Florida Keys.
He was impressed by the road. In fact he found out later that it had been completed just a few years earlier. After the 1935 hurricane had wiped out the Florida East Coast railroad, the state bought the right-of-way and railroad bridges. The bridges were all intact, and the highway was built right on top of the widened railroad grade.
Peter saw the US Navy was in the process of laying 12 inch water pipes along the highway and attaching them to the bridges. Key West must not have its own water, he thought.
He also noticed the beautiful clear turquoise water. He made a mental note, it would be hard for a submarine to hide in these waters. He said to himself, “This may be a nice new highway, but it doesn’t compare to our high-speed autobahns back home!”
The hum of the bus’s huge tires and the tranquil scenery made Peter grow sleepy. Nevertheless, he forced himself to stay awake and make mental notes: number of bridges, military activity, and the lay of the land. But he really perked up when he saw the Boca Chica Naval Air Station.
The bus slowed in that congested area, and Peter got his eyes full! Then it was only one more Key and they were on Roosevelt Boulevard in Key West. This road ran right through the old section of the city. The bus slowed down and pulled into the station.
“Key West,” the driver announced over the intercom, as the bus came to a stop.
Peter grabbed his equipment suitcase from the overhead. He had to give his ticket stub to the driver outside to get his clothes’ suitcase. He wasn’t going to let the equipment suitcase out of his sight.
He looked around. This was a temporary bus station. It was using a building right across from the US Naval Station. He thought, this is excellent. Now let’s look around in this area. He was amazed by the island architecture as he walked around a couple of blocks. They were all strange wooden houses painted in bright colors.
Then he saw it…A two-story house with storm shutters. The most important part was, that it had a six-sided turret on a corner of the second floor. There were windows on each side. But what caught his eye was the “For Sale” sign tacked to the front fence. He went up, wrote down the phone number, and then forcefully pulled the sign off the fence. He laid it face down in the high grass on the opposite side of the fence.
Since it was now late afternoon, Peter decided it would be best to go the few blocks back to the bus station, and ask directions for a place to stay the night.
The ticket agent told him a place a couple of blocks up Southard Street was respectable and did not cater to sailors. He walked the two blocks and saw the sign, “Boarding House.”
He rang the door bell.
An old lady came to the door, “Yes, may I help you?”
“Why Ma'am, I’m hoping you can. I just got in from Miami on the bus. I need a place to stay for a few days.”
“You're not Navy are you?”
“No Ma'am.”
“Well I’ve got one room. It’s upstairs. I serve supper in an hour, at five sharp…and Sir, no girls in the room!”
“Yes Ma'am.”
“Step inside,” she ordered. “I’ll get you to sign the register. It’s two nights deposit. Tomorrow you can tell me how long you need to stay. What’s your name?”
“Peter, Ma’am. Peter Smith.”
“Smith. Hmm. I’m Bessie McCall. Right this way, young fella.”
Peter was relieved to be able to put his two suitcases down. He sat down in the chair and looked around. The room was small but very clean. There was a closet. He got up, opened the door and hid his equipment suitcase on the top shelf under the spare blanket.
In the morning, after a hearty breakfast, he inquired where to find a bank. Bessie told him to go to Simonton Street, and turn right. A couple of blocks would bring him to the post office and a bank.
Peter hated to lug it, but he took his equipment suitcase. That Bessie would likely be snooping. He walked downtown. He had two things to do: First, open a bank account, and second, make a phone call to the realtor. He used the same story, selling a piece of property in New York and coming down to Key West to work.
“What kind of work do you do?” the bank agent asked him.
“Accounting and records,” Peter replied.
“I heard the county has a couple of openings. You know, the war and the draft are taking a lot of men.”
“Thanks for the information,” Peter replied.
He thought, that’s a good lead. It would be a real cover. I think it would be good to go to the county first. It was only four blocks back to Southward and Whitehead Streets.
“Wow!” he said out loud.
Then he caught himself and thought. Look at this, the county courthouse is right across the street from the main entrance to the Naval Sub Base.
He went inside and looked at the register to find out where the personnel department was.
“Hi, may I help you?” the clerk asked.
“Yes, Ma'am. I would like to apply for employment.”
“What is your occupation?” she asked.
“Either accounting or records,” Peter replied.
“How uncanny. We just now have a opening for property records. Please fill out this form.”
He had no past employment records. But his college records in his home town of Milwaukee would help if he was checked. He put down working for himself in New York, finance and investing, a house in Miami, and his degree from Milwaukee Business College.
“Ma’am, I don’t have a work record. I have been working for myself in finance and investing. However, I have the degree, and a house in Miami.”
“Sir, Mr. Frederickson will take that all into consideration,” she explained. “He will see you now.”
“You have an unusual work record, Mr. Smith. But, you seem like an honest fellow. We need the help. When can you start? We’re so short of qualified men down here. They're all drafted, and they’re taking more every day.”
“Well, Mr. Frederickson, thank you. In a couple of days. I need to find a place to stay.”
“Ok. How about first thing Monday? Mable will get all of your paperwork taken care of.”
Peter walked out to the office. He saw a phone booth in the hall.
“Yes, this is Peter Smith. I’m interested in the house you have for sale. The one with the turret.”
Island Flavor
Seven AM the next morning, saw Peter with two suitcases. One was filled with all the clothes he could pack into it. The other one was the same one with the same equipment he arrived with. This time he went to the other side of the street and caught a bus marked Miami.
Now it was just a few minutes past 12 noon and the big Greyhound bus was up on Highway Number 1 heading south. In less than a couple of hours time they were through Homestead, then Florida City and heading out the causeway towards the Florida Keys.
He was impressed by the road. In fact he found out later that it had been completed just a few years earlier. After the 1935 hurricane had wiped out the Florida East Coast railroad, the state bought the right-of-way and railroad bridges. The bridges were all intact, and the highway was built right on top of the widened railroad grade.
Peter saw the US Navy was in the process of laying 12 inch water pipes along the highway and attaching them to the bridges. Key West must not have its own water, he thought.
He also noticed the beautiful clear turquoise water. He made a mental note, it would be hard for a submarine to hide in these waters. He said to himself, “This may be a nice new highway, but it doesn’t compare to our high-speed autobahns back home!”
The hum of the bus’s huge tires and the tranquil scenery made Peter grow sleepy. Nevertheless, he forced himself to stay awake and make mental notes: number of bridges, military activity, and the lay of the land. But he really perked up when he saw the Boca Chica Naval Air Station.
The bus slowed in that congested area, and Peter got his eyes full! Then it was only one more Key and they were on Roosevelt Boulevard in Key West. This road ran right through the old section of the city. The bus slowed down and pulled into the station.
“Key West,” the driver announced over the intercom, as the bus came to a stop.
Peter grabbed his equipment suitcase from the overhead. He had to give his ticket stub to the driver outside to get his clothes’ suitcase. He wasn’t going to let the equipment suitcase out of his sight.
He looked around. This was a temporary bus station. It was using a building right across from the US Naval Station. He thought, this is excellent. Now let’s look around in this area. He was amazed by the island architecture as he walked around a couple of blocks. They were all strange wooden houses painted in bright colors.
Then he saw it…A two-story house with storm shutters. The most important part was, that it had a six-sided turret on a corner of the second floor. There were windows on each side. But what caught his eye was the “For Sale” sign tacked to the front fence. He went up, wrote down the phone number, and then forcefully pulled the sign off the fence. He laid it face down in the high grass on the opposite side of the fence.
Since it was now late afternoon, Peter decided it would be best to go the few blocks back to the bus station, and ask directions for a place to stay the night.
The ticket agent told him a place a couple of blocks up Southard Street was respectable and did not cater to sailors. He walked the two blocks and saw the sign, “Boarding House.”
He rang the door bell.
An old lady came to the door, “Yes, may I help you?”
“Why Ma'am, I’m hoping you can. I just got in from Miami on the bus. I need a place to stay for a few days.”
“You're not Navy are you?”
“No Ma'am.”
“Well I’ve got one room. It’s upstairs. I serve supper in an hour, at five sharp…and Sir, no girls in the room!”
“Yes Ma'am.”
“Step inside,” she ordered. “I’ll get you to sign the register. It’s two nights deposit. Tomorrow you can tell me how long you need to stay. What’s your name?”
“Peter, Ma’am. Peter Smith.”
“Smith. Hmm. I’m Bessie McCall. Right this way, young fella.”
Peter was relieved to be able to put his two suitcases down. He sat down in the chair and looked around. The room was small but very clean. There was a closet. He got up, opened the door and hid his equipment suitcase on the top shelf under the spare blanket.
In the morning, after a hearty breakfast, he inquired where to find a bank. Bessie told him to go to Simonton Street, and turn right. A couple of blocks would bring him to the post office and a bank.
Peter hated to lug it, but he took his equipment suitcase. That Bessie would likely be snooping. He walked downtown. He had two things to do: First, open a bank account, and second, make a phone call to the realtor. He used the same story, selling a piece of property in New York and coming down to Key West to work.
“What kind of work do you do?” the bank agent asked him.
“Accounting and records,” Peter replied.
“I heard the county has a couple of openings. You know, the war and the draft are taking a lot of men.”
“Thanks for the information,” Peter replied.
He thought, that’s a good lead. It would be a real cover. I think it would be good to go to the county first. It was only four blocks back to Southward and Whitehead Streets.
“Wow!” he said out loud.
Then he caught himself and thought. Look at this, the county courthouse is right across the street from the main entrance to the Naval Sub Base.
He went inside and looked at the register to find out where the personnel department was.
“Hi, may I help you?” the clerk asked.
“Yes, Ma'am. I would like to apply for employment.”
“What is your occupation?” she asked.
“Either accounting or records,” Peter replied.
“How uncanny. We just now have a opening for property records. Please fill out this form.”
He had no past employment records. But his college records in his home town of Milwaukee would help if he was checked. He put down working for himself in New York, finance and investing, a house in Miami, and his degree from Milwaukee Business College.
“Ma’am, I don’t have a work record. I have been working for myself in finance and investing. However, I have the degree, and a house in Miami.”
“Sir, Mr. Frederickson will take that all into consideration,” she explained. “He will see you now.”
“You have an unusual work record, Mr. Smith. But, you seem like an honest fellow. We need the help. When can you start? We’re so short of qualified men down here. They're all drafted, and they’re taking more every day.”
“Well, Mr. Frederickson, thank you. In a couple of days. I need to find a place to stay.”
“Ok. How about first thing Monday? Mable will get all of your paperwork taken care of.”
Peter walked out to the office. He saw a phone booth in the hall.
“Yes, this is Peter Smith. I’m interested in the house you have for sale. The one with the turret.”
From the Author:
My second full-length book , Florida Keys’ Watercolor Kapers is composed of 336 pages. There are 12 stories running from 6 pages to as many as 72 pages. It is fully illustrated with 88 watercolors and sketches. The watercolors I made roaming around Key West after I finished my 750 mile hike from Georgia to Key West. (See book or Don Browne’s SouthWest Florida Online News records, A Walk Across Florida.) As you read these stories you will experience Key West, the Keys, and the Caribbean. These stories span the time of the early 1800’s to 1969. bkranich.wixsite.com/bobkranich
No comments:
Post a Comment