"The Way It Was" Newspaper Column on Baker County, Florida History, 1981 part 3

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                      THE WAY IT WAS

------------------------------------------------------------
 William Eugene "Gene" Barber, Artist, Instructor, Historian &
Genealogist authored a series of articles for the Baker County Press
entitled "The Way It Was".
 His articles covered all aspects of Baker County pioneers lives in a
colorful, entertaining, as well as, educational manner. At an early age,
Gene possessed the desire and ability to interview the 'Old Folks'. He was
as talented in the use of the pen, as he is with a brush, choosing his
words and expressions in a way to paint an exciting and interesting story.

Contents:

* Ghosts of Christmas Past, not-so-long-past, to-come Conclusion (in part 1)
* Some comments on the past year (in part 1)
* Reminiscing with Paul Taylor (in part 1)
* The Militia of 1837 (in part 1)
* A Cracker Lexicon - Two Parts (in part 1)
* John & Mollie Crews (in part 1)
* When bombs rained on Baker County (in part 1)
* Names and views from behind those framed photographs - Two Parts (in part 1)
* Catholicism in Baker County - Three Parts (in part 1)
* Children of the Confederacy (in part 1)
* The Glen Centennial - Part one (in part 1)
* The Glen Centennial - Part two (in part 1)
* The rape of the Osceola Forest (in part 1)
* The Glen Centennial - A photo story (in part 2)
* The Glen Centennial - Charly W. Turner (in part 2)
* The Glen Centennial - 'The second Yankee invasion' (in part 2)
* The Glen Centennial - More faces from the past..... (in part 2)
* History of the arts here (in part 2)
* Glen in the 1880's (in part 2)
* The Glen Centennial - Conclusion (in part 2)
* A Baker County map of 1840 (in part 2)
* Francis Marion Brown (in part 2)
* Cracker Manifesto (in part 2)
* Reminiscing at the Beaches (in part 2)
* Columns draw readers' ire (in part 2)
* Post offices in Glen St. Mary (in part 2)
* The demise of the front porch (in part 2)
* The demise of the front porch - conclusion (in part 2)
* The Okefenokee Swamp - Part one (in part 2)
* The Okefenokee Swamp -Part Two (in part 2)
* The Okefenokee Swamp - Part Three (in part 2)

* The Okefenokee
* No article this week [Sep 10, 1981]
* Rufus Powers grew up with Glen
* In the spirit of the Centennial
* The Glen Centennial - Appraisal and appreciation
* The Okefenokee Swamp - A resumption of the series
* People of the Okefenokee - The Indians
* The Okefenokee - The whites move in....and out
* The Okefenokee - Assorted legends, haints and boogers
* It's time to mobilize - Against strip-mining in the Osceola
* The turn of the Century
* Data from some old maps
* Thanksgiving feasts of old
* Looking ahead at Olustee
* Christmas 1981
* To a mellow Christmas
* After 'The Day After'
* Potpourri of the year 1981

_____________________________________________________________________________

   THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, September 3, 1981 Page Two

                   THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber

                          The Okefenokee

   It seems quite proper that an unusual geographical feature would
attract unusual and interesting people. It has been home and host to
the very worst and the very best, the bravest and the most foolish.

   Some like the Seagrove brothers have received little publicity
because they were not of the swashbuckling type. James (called "Diego"
by the Spanish) Seagrove (sometimes written "Seagroves") was appointed
Superintendent of Indian Affairs by none other than George Washington
himself. He operated his agency out of Saint Mary's, Colerain, and
Traders Hill in the 1790's, and included descriptions and mentions of
the Okefenokee in much of his reports and correspondence.

   Robert Seagrove was a storekeeper at Traders Hill and was the
recognized Indian trader for the lower Creeks of western Georgia and
of the central Georgia Seminoles. In spite of the Spaniards' attempts
to the contrary, he was also much used by the Florida Seminoles.
Robert hunted often in the swamp as did the Creeks and Seminoles after
game began to be scarce throughout southern Georgia.

   Lake Seagrove (sometimes written "Sego") within the Okefenokee
was named for James. Some local historians argue (and they have a qood
point) that the lake was the namesake of Robert, who lived and
operated at the swamp's edge much longer than his brother was Indian
agent.

   There is an historical rumor that Alexander McGillvray, the
extraordinary and brilliant supreme chief of the Creek Indians, was a
frequent visitor to the swamp, but if that were true the fact shoud be
easy to find among the voluminous writings of the man.

   A claimant of McGillvray's position was Willam Augustus Bowles,
exceptionally intelligent and resourceful international rascal. Writer
Albert Hazen Wright mentions, but does not suggest or propose, that
Billy's Island and Billy's Lake in the Okefenokee might be named for
Bowles. This self-styled "President of the State of Muscogee" - Bowles
- was a prolific letter writer, and nowhere in his writings does he
speak of the Okefenokee.

   The third of the famous triumvirate who were supposed to have
been closely identified with the Okefenokee was the international
renegade Danial McGirth. He owed his allegiance to no flag and
conducted his brigandage from a fortified headquarters some believe
was at or near Brandy Branch community (attested to by Elias Hicks, c.
1775 - c. 1814, an ancestor of several Baker Countians).

   Of the three, this infamous character was the most probable
candidate for a swamp person, but we have yet to uncover evidence that
McGirth was familiar with any but the lower perimeter of the
Okefenokee. Among the influential Indian traders around and in the
swamp was Jack Kennard, a rich Scots half breed. He was described by
his contemporaries as despotic illiterate, conniving, and of being
possessed of consumate abilities in dealing with the Creeks and
Seminoles and the Spanish. Although his residence and post was on the
Flint River far to the west, his business so frequently took him to
the Traders Hill-Colerain-Saint Mary's area that the route skirting
the northern edge of the Okefenokee (previously an Indian path) became
known as Kennard's Trading path.

   Kennard often dipped into the swamp for a hunting expedition, and
it was rumored that he sometimes invited stumbling blocks and enemies
along these hunts and returned without them - left for gator snacks.

   Timothy and William Barnard (brothers?) were important members of
the Creek nation who visited the Okefenokee on their autumnal hunts.
Timothy was a valuable liaison man between the Indians and the U.S.
and William, it is said, settled among the white settlers near the
eastern edge of the swamp. We don't know if the Barnards were Indians,
whites, or mixed. And we don't know if there is any significance that
the original Wilson "Willis" Conner who preached in Camden County, and
Spanish Florida, and was a high ranking official of the short-lived
"Republic of Alachua" in Florida named one of his sons "William
Barnard."

   Benjamin Hawkins, another appointee of President Washington's to
the Indian affairs of the Southeast, was a visitor to the swamp
pursuing an end to problems among the Creeks as stirred up by the
disreputible intrigant John Galphin. The two men were diametrically
opposite in their morals and ethics. Hawkins was often unjustly
criticized for attempting to deal fairly with the Indians. Galphin, it
was said by some of his contemporaries, was the most double-dealing
son-of-a-gun to ever walk the Georgia soil.

   Next week, some famous Indians of the swamp and several white
hunters of note who became as one with the old Okefenokee.

_____________________________________________________________________________

       THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, September 10, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

                    NOTE: No article this week

_____________________________________________________________________________

       THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, September 17, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

                  Rufus Powers grew Up with Glen

   (Writer's note: once again, allow us to divert from the
"Okefenokee" series. The Article this week is being substituted
because of the upcoming Glen St. Mary Centennial. The "Okefenokee"
will return.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

   One of the popular features of The Press issue of April 1, 1976,
was the Bi-Centennial series column on the Powers Pioneers. The
accompanying photograph was of a stately pecan tree and a sprightly
gentleman named Rufus Powers. The pecan tree, already old in 1975,
will be among the five Glen historical landmarks interpreted by local
artists and reproduced for sale by the Glen Centennial Commission and
the County Fine Arts Council during the upcoming Celebration.

   The gentleman, Rufus Powers, was the subject of a glowing tribute
by his step daughter Dorothy Bradley of the south Sanderson Section.
We think the readers will enjoy the abstracted version that follows.

   "Drive one mile north of Glen Saint Mary on State Road 125 to
where the road goes gently down a hill, and look for the large old
pecan tree, now once again laden with pecans...and let me tell you of
the man who was born on that 160 acre farm in the year 1883 when Glen
Saint Mary was in its second year as a town...

   "Mr. Rufus Powers, Glen Saint Mary's oldest and longest living
native, to this writer's knowledge, was born on March 3, 1883. He
became my step-father in 1932 and remained so until his death on
February 22, 1979 at the age of 96. He left us a legacy of memories
and a wealth of information as to the early years of his growing up in
Glen...

   "Mr. Rufus' father was James Hamilton Powers, born in 1842 in
Appling County, Georgia. He fought in the Civil War and was taken
prisoner at Newport News, Virginia. He married Nancy Tomlinson of
Nassau County Florida...He had a 412 acre land grant on the north side
of the Saint Mary's River. He either sold it or traded it and moved to
what they called the "Flat Place" farther north.

   Then he moved to Duval County and had a place on McGirt's Creek.
The oak runners whipped him and he came over this way hunting a place
to live. Somebody told him about a fellow named Mott who had a
homestead he wanted to get rid of. Mr. Mott had what was called
"proved up" land (cleared and a house built on it). This meant he had
a right to 160 acres from the Government Homestead Act. Mr. Mott sold
it to Mr. Powers for $400.00 .

   "He moved there in 1875 with his wife and three sons, Jim, Alex,
and Levin. The house they lived in was the same house we lived in for
10 years until my parents built a new one. Sons, Richard, Noah,
Monroe, and Rubin, and daughter Sarah were next to be born on this
farm. Sarah died at 4 years of age. Monroe also died at 11 years of
age...When Mr. Rufus was 3 years old Pencie Elizabeth was born.

   "James Hamilton Powers died in 1897 from Bright's Disease. Nancy
died in 1915 in a flu epidemic which also claimed Rubin and Pencie
Elizabeth. There is a family cemetery established between 1875 and
1883, just east of the house where nine members of the family are
buried...The last buried there was Jim, the oldest son, in 1940.

   "The neighbors around Mr. Rufus' neighborhood were the Jacksons
and the Stricklands to the south and the Alexanders one mile west on
what we called the Will White place...What we know as the Neil
Kirkland place, to Mr. Rufus was the Mitch Thomas place...The
Franklins lived on what we know as the Jimmy Burnsed place one mile to
the north, and the Townsends' home was built about a mile
north-northeast of the Franklins'...

   The road to Glen was directly east of the house in those days, so
the pecan tree was in the Powers' backyard. Mr. Rufus walked to school
in Glen with Mr. Earl Franklin, who was postmaster in Glen for many
years, and with Mr. John Townsend, who was the rural mail carrier in
my growing up years. There were no grades in school in those days,
just readers. Mr. Rufus finished the 4th and 5th reader.

   "Mr. Rufus remembered the stately Mr. George Taber coming to the
farm astride a horse to get peach tree stock. At the turn of the
century the Glen Nurseries catalog listed the Powers Peach for sale.

   "While staying with an uncle who kept a drawbridge over the
Amelia River in Fernandina, Mr. Rufus had an accident with a gun which
claimed his left leg in 1904 at the age of 21. His uncle asked him to
go across the bridge to bring back a marsh pony that was feeding on
the other side. He carried a borrowed gun which had a faulty trigger.
Coming back across the bridge, his attention was called to where some
folks were putting out a gill net. As he turned to where they were,
the gun slipped out of his balance and fell, fired, and struck his
left leg just above the ankle. For 75 years he had an artificial leg.

   "In 1932 he married the mother of the 'Bradley Bunch', and they
then had a beautiful dark haired, dark eyed boy named George...

   "Mr. Rufus loved Glen Saint Mary, and as is so often the case as
one grows older, his conversetion and mind's eye turned to things
past. I think in later years he actually saw Glen as it was when he
was growing up. He was honored as the county's oldest native son in
the Bi-Centennial parade."

   Mrs. Davis shared some of Mr. Powers' poetry with The Press, and
we would like to present it in its entirety at a later date. But now,
we close this offering on Mr. Rufus with an excerpt from his writing:
"I've been traveling this road a long, long time. And every step I
take forward is a step left behind. But all the steps I've taken
forward, and all the steps I've left behind, I thank God I'm strong
and healthy and have a pleasant peace of mind."

_____________________________________________________________________________

       THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, September 24, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

                  In the spirit of the Centennial
           Some notes from a 19th Century newspaper

   While researching for some Glen historical notes, we came across
this old Sentinel (and, incidentally, we were also flipping through it
prior to mailing it back to the lady from whom we had borrowed it more
years ago than we wish to remember). Since it was from a day in which
the Glen was beginning to enjoy its greatest growth and good
reputation, we thought it appropriate to copy some of the news notes
and advertisements.

   Folks in those days were especially concerned about their
physiological functions and ailments (and we thought we were "the age
of hypochondria") Those concerned about female intimate commercials on
todays TV would really come unglued over some of the almost explicit
newspaper ads of Victorian days.

   But enough talk about the ads (we're beginning to sound like a
Victorian journalist).... read on:

----------------------------------------------------------------------

                   Worth its weight in diamonds

   C.A. Willis, editor "The horseman", Chicago, writes: "If my
experience is to decide the value of Witch Hazel Oil - the "Pile
Ointment" - it is worth its weight in diamonds."

                Chamberlaln's Eye and Skin Ointment

   A certain cure for Chronic Sore Eyes, Tetter, Salt Rheum, Scald
Head, Old Chronic Sores, Fever Sores, Eczema, Itch, Prairie Scratches,
Sore Nipples, and Piles. It is cooling and soothing. Hundreds of cases
have been cured by it after all other treatmment had failed. It is put
up in 25 and 50 cent boxes. For sale by Jones and Bros.

   For many years Mr. B. Thompson of Des Moines, Iowa, was severely
afflicted with chronic diarrhea. He says: "At times it was very
severe, so much so that I feared it would end my life. About seven
years ago I chanced to procure a bottle of Chamberlain's Colic,
Cholera and Diarrhea Remedy. It gave me prompt relief and I believe
cured me permanently, as I now eat or drink anything without harm I
please. I have also used it in my family with the best results." For
sale by Jones Bros.

   Willow baskets, tubs, buckets, and tin ware, lowest market price.
Men's black and brown fur and straw hats at lowest prices. Ladies'
trimmed and untrimmed hats at lowest prices. Mince meat, per
package...10 ???missing.

   MY Wife was miserable all the time with kidney complaint, but
began improving when she had taken Hood's Sarsaparilla one week, and
after taking three bottles was perfectly cured. I had heart failure,
catarrh, and liver complaint. Could not sleep, bloated badly, had
pains in my back, ringing noises in my ears. Hood's Sarsaparilla gave
immediate benefit, sound sleep, and good health. Available at Barber
and Rowe General Merchandise, Glen St. Mary.

       Personal (Sept. 7, 1882, from the Macclenny Sentinel)

   Will Williams and bride have gone to housekeeping at the Glen.

   Sheriff Gurganus made a short trip to Jacksonville on business
last week.

   Geo. L. Taber, of the Glen, was over here Monday a.m. (that means
after mules).

   Geo. L. Taber, of the Glen, was a passenger toward home by rail
Thursday morning.

   S.F. Blair has moved his family from the Glen to the house on
Macclenny Avenue just east of Fourth Street.

   The Times Union tells us that F.J. Pons went to New Orleans
Sunday to see the fight between Sullivan and Corbett which takes place
today.

   W.L. Horne has become sole proprietor of the mill at the Glen,
M.D. Barber having sold out his interest.

   Another bad rain last night. You can wash your feet in the Little
St. Marys while sitting on the trestle.

   The Macclenny circulating library will open Monday afternoons
from 4 to 6 o'clock, Thursday mornings from 8:30 to 10:00 o'clock, in
the old post office.

ONE ENJOYS both the method and results when Syrup of Figs is taken. It
acts gently yet promptly on the kidneys, liver and bowels. Cleanses
the system effectually, dispels colcis, headaches and fevers, and
cures habitual constipation. Do not accept any substitute. Available
in 50' and $l bottles at Dr. E.W. Crockett's Drug Store Glen St. Mary.

_____________________________________________________________________________

    THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, October 1, 1981 Page Two

                   THE WAY IT WAS - Gene Barber

                        The Glen Centennial

                    Appraisal and appreciation

   When the folks over in the Glen decided to pitch a Centennial
Celebration, your writer hailed it as a laudable move. Little did he
realize then that he would wind up so intimately identified with it.
From his vantage point he was privy to a view not seen by our
thousands of celebrants - the labor, imagination, coordination, and
anxiety of a dedicated group of workers who went beyond, above,
longer, and deeper than duty and obligation. We witnessed the
cooperation, toleration, and even indulgence of the Town Council,
townspeople, and a marvelous set of merchants.

   We received the trust, advice, and financial assistance of
individuals, businesses, and organizations from throughout the county
and from without the county.

   It would be dangerous to single out anyone for recognition, but
all our workers concur that one young lady - Mrs. Alice Williams was
the moving spirit and the most moving (in the literal sense) member of
the Commission. Mrs. Williams chaired several committees and was the
single-member and chair of still more.

   In the intoxication of success we could tend to ignore and forget
we had problems. They were there, but none were unconquerable. The
largest and most consistent problems were old-time Baker County
procrastination and negativism. We know these are not unique drawbacks
to us alone, but we wish they had not been with us; we could have
operated much more smoothly and would have operated under much less
strain.

   We made some mistakes, but since the vast majority of celebrants
seemed to not notice or care, we shall let them lie, bringing them out
of the closet only when we feel it necessary to aid other planners of
like celebrations in avoiding like problems and mistakes.

   On the positive side (the much, much greater side), our
out-of-town guests acclaimed the parade as the best of its kind they
had seen. The foods were pronounced excellent, novel, fitting the
occasion, and complemented with prompt and courteous service. The food
concessioners ended the day exhausted and broadly smiling as they
toted their empty trays and bulging cashboxes home.

   Arts and crafts sold well, but more important, they were
accepted, viewed, and re-visited. The town decorations were so admired
that most went missing before we had an opportunity to take them down.
Sunday's music was admired by all, and "The Battle Hymn of the
Republic" rising up through the giant pines at sunset revived many a
spirit.

   Of the street dances, one cosmopolitan gentleman (not at all a
fan of country music) stated, "I've never seen so many people having
so great a time and not becoming rowdy or creating embarrassing
situations." Music and entertainment director Teresa Dance kept the
celebrants' high on the natural stimulant of good music,- well-planned
and programmed. She did not only an outstanding job, but she could be
credited with doing an almost impossible job.

   Most agreed the museum was the continuing climax of the weekend.
Its popularity was phenomenal and would probably have attracted
patrons for 24 hours a day if we had kept it open. The directors
(Steve Sands, chairmen) went beyond most museum concepts and staged a
19th century gunfight and educational tours of the Glen Nurseries (in
cooperation with the Taber family).

   Estimates of the crowds varied greatly. Your writer, whose very
grits and shelter depends on his ability to see and record, made a
safe estimate of 500 in the parking lot of Tom's Factory Outlet alone
during the parade. Cursory counts later during our running around,
multiplying the city blocks involved during the parade with the
approximate 1,000 crowding each block, and combining and averaging
figures from some of our estimators, we believe that our peak crowd
was close to the Times-Union report of 7,000 to 8,000.

   In addition, the beauty pageant and costume contest drew a safely
estimated 500; Friday's street dance and entertainment pulled
approximately 1200; Saturday's dance was the focal point for close to
2,000; and the Sunday service, Taber Drive dedication, and birthday
party were the scenes of an additional 500.

   As impressive as figures can be, they fade when compared to the
smiles and laughes we met everywhere. The people were happy. If there
was ever a time in our lifetimes that Baker County needed to laugh, it
is now.

   On behalf of all our workers and the town of Glen St. Mary, thank
you for laughing.

   Keep the spirit of the Centennial.

_____________________________________________________________________________

         THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, October 8, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

        The Okefenokee Swamp - A resumption of the series

   After our interlude of the Glen Saint Mary Centennial, the return
to the Okefenokee Series would seem almost anticlimactic if that great
morass and its inhabitants were not so intriguing.

   The Okefenokee is not a true swamp, but like its famous south
Florida counterpart the Everglades, it is a giant broad river that
flows slowly southward. Except for those periods of drought when the
flow is curtailed or stopped, there is no stagnant water within its
limits.

   The Okefenokee is situated at an elevation which is over a
hundred feet above sea level and is slightly higher to much higher
than the surrounding land. It is the remains of part of the
pre-historic lagoon sometimes known in geological circles as the
Columbia Bay. When Trail Ridge, a series of pre-historic sand dunes,
cut Columbia Bay off from the ocean and the land as it is geologically
wont to do, rose, the great depression filled in and became not only
the Okefenokee but also the numerous swamps, bays, and ponds of Baker,
Columbia, Bradford, and Union Counties.

   Okefenokee covers more than 600 square miles and was undoubtedly
larger before man's encroachment with his multitudinous means of
draining, many of which, such as road beds, ditches, clear-cutting,
and farming, surely had to remove some of the natural moisture and
therefore some of the swamp features.

   Many of the earliest explorers and map makers believed the swamp
was of greater extent than it actually was. Even as late as the
nineteenth century some argued that the Okefenokee reached almost to
the Flint River on the west. The Spanish sometimes had its northern
edge nestled among the foothills of the Appalachian mountains. Even
today there is disagreement whether Baker and Columbia Counties' Gum
Swamps, Pinhook and others should be considered part of the Okefenokee
or if they are separate and independent bodies.

   Some claim the old swamp is creeping southward just as the west
coast of Florida is steadily easing down into the Gulf of Mexico. In
other words, as the continental part of Georgia rises, it is pushing
parts of Florida down and lifting the north edge of the Okefenokee
tipping the swamp in the manner of a lifted saucer of water.

   It is an observable fact that some abandoned Baker County farms
within a mile or two of the recognized boundary of the swamp were
until 40 or 50 years ago under cultivation but are often too marshy
for the plow. The old Mack Raulerson/Gid Burnsed place had a
yearly-used field until the thirties, but it is now filled with
cypresses and, unless there is a drought, stands under water. McKinley
Crews mentioned to this writer a few years ago that his and Dan'l's
farm was not any longer a good place to dry root crops or to cure meat
(humidity from the closely approaching swamp?).

   We have heard tales that Cross Branch, a tributary of Moccasin
Branch above Baxter, will, depending on flood conditions, flow
backwards. Others have pooh-poohed the story saying that during flood
times, there is No Cross Branch because it is lost in the waters that
spread everywhere.

   Florida Highway 2 and the Georgia Southern and Florida Railway
utilizes an east-west ridge between the Okefenokee and Pinhook that
has been in use as a game, trading, and settlers trail since before
man's knowledge. The ridge was especially rich in refuse and burial
mounds of the ancient peoples, but they have been looted and scattered
by treasure hunters and the curious until they are but memories
(wouldn't you just love to know that the cultural and social
descendants of these ghoulish people will be doing that to your
mother's grave in the future? Well, they will be).

   From the 1820's this ridge was known variously as "the Old Train
Trail" (not from the locomotive but from the train of wagons that used
it), "the Settlers Trail", and "the Old Yarborough Trail." Travelers
Rest, now called "Traveler", was a welcome stop for settlers, traders,
and hunters from Spanish Days.

   For a more detailed account of the beginnings of the Okefenokee
we refer you to The Way It Was December 8, 15, and 22, 1977. We also
refer you to our offerings of September 18 and November 13, 1975;
January 29 and May 27, 1976; and May 4, 1978; for additional readings
on the swamp and its people.

   Next week, as promised, some of the people of the swamp.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, October 15, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS Gene Barber

              People of the Okefenokee - The Indians

   When a great schism occurred among the various tribes of the once
loosely confederated Creek Indians, Polly Coppinger Powell Chose to
take her young son Osceola and depart for Florida to dwell among the
Miccasukies in the vicinity of the Okefenokee Swamp. Her husband, a
white trader and a native of the British Isles, took the daughters and
remained with the Tallassees and eventually removed with the Creeks to
the trans-Mississippi territory.

   It would be insulting to the memory of the great red patriot to
treat him as no more than a subject for a paragraph or two, so we
shall mention that the Swamp's first famous resident was Osceola and
leave him for what we hope will be a greatly expanded column in the
future.

   Polly and Osceola remained in or near the Swamp for but a few
years and were next found living in a hammock near the present Ocala.
Before they left, however, another name remembered as infamous by many
a resident of the northeast Florida-southeast Georgia area began
cropping up. Very few descendants of the old swamp families have not
listened around the fireplace on chilly fall evenings to tales of old
Bowlegs (Bolech) and his band murdering their long ago ancestors. This
writer's own great-great grandmother and great grandmother on his
Garrett side were allegedly slaughtered by the enigmatic and seemingly
ubiquitous Bowlegs ("Bowlegs" was a nickname, and there are no extant
eyewitness accounts of the man being bowlegged).

   Bolech's earliest known town was on the Suwannee River, but he
later entered the relative safety of the Okefenokee from where he
sallied forth on his bloody trips of vengeance among the white
settlers.

   Bolech gave up in 1838 and left the Swamp for the area west of
Saint Augustine and south central Florida, but dallied along the way
for a simple diversion - the scalping of Mrs. Jane Johns between the
present Baldwin and the present Maxville.

   Coacoochee or Wildcat also claimed credit for the Johns'
incident. Ha had been a resident of the Okefenokee from about 1837
through about 1839. With the older Halpatter Tustenuggee (old
Alligator, from whom Lake City's first name, Alligator Town - was
taken) and Cotzar-Fixicochapeo (Mad Tiger), Wildcat terrorized north
Florida from their headquarters in the Okefenokee.

   Octiarche, a Creek chief who merited few comments in records of
the times, was evidently a noted chief who tried to escape the white
man's revenge and his fellow Indians' wrath toward his pacifism. He
and a band of 60 men lived in the Okefenokee from 1836 until the end
of the war in 1842.

   Another important Creek personage who eluded most contempory
journals and later history books was Ecouchatti (there are various
spellings of his name). Ecouchatti and Osceola, according to some
accounts, were cousins, but we must remember that Indians were like
old-time Crackers in that they claimed cousins many timed removed.

   Ecouchatti came to east Florida from somewhere near the
Apalachicola River in the 1820 s, and he said that when he came to
east Florida he was returning to the place of his birth. He took up
residence in the Okefenokee and was one of the last of the Creeks and
Seminoles to leave it.

   He and his band are mostly remembered in Cracker legends as being
alternatingly friendly and civilized, and then blood-thirsty and
rapacious. It was Ecouchatti who murdered William Barber and some of
his children on Trail Ridge in the summer of 1841 after having gained
confidence of the family and associating with them since 1829.

   The Widow Barber moved in 1842 to central Florida (the present
counties of Marion, Polk, Hernando, Lake and finally Orange), but she
was never free of Ecouchatti. He moved with her, and descendants all
through central and south Florida tell the same story of an old Indian
and a few of his band often stepping out of the woods and singing the
taunt "Ecouchatti killed your daddy."

   There are stories of other Indians in the Swamp-Bendoris,
Seminole Billy, Tagger, and Cherokee Billy - and the writer's own
great-great-great grandmother Mary Ann was one of those swamp people.
When she gave her infant to Luke Sparkman she said, "Her name is Mary
Ann, like mine....Now she won't have to run like us."

   That young Coweta woman's great grandmother [grand daughter] told
this writer A quarter of a century ago,"I seed the last of 'em
(Indians) leave when I was a little girl. A'walking down the railroad
track towards the east. They never come back. They wuldn't no more."

_____________________________________________________________________________

          BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, October 22, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

          The Okefenokee -The whites move in....and out

   The last of the belligerent Creeks and Seminoles were gone from
the Okefenokee by 1841. A few scattered family groups lived in hovels
in and around the swamp for several more years, but since they posed
no threat to Anglo-American settlers the swamp began to experience its
first permanent residents.

   Among the earliest was the family of William Thomas Chesser (see
BCP 29 January, 1976). Although no legal claims were made until the
1850's Mr. Chesser entered the swamp in 1842 and settled on an Island
thereafter named for him. Descendents remained in possession of the
island despite United States opposition for over a century.

   The old Chessers were a pleasant but peculiar people, jealous of
their privacy and not hesitant to stand up to federal and state
governments against the rich man's war of secession. Two of the
Chesser boys and a brother-in-law deserted the Confederate Army after
a few grueling months and hid out in the fastness of the swamp for the
duration of the war.

   The Chessers lived a self-contained, self-sufficient life within
the Okefenokee until after the War Between the States when life on the
"outside" began to beckon to some. Before the twentieth century all
but two of the boys had moved away. In 1958 the last of the Chessers -
Tom, a grandson of William Thomas - left the old home place to the
bears and unearthly quiet of the Okefenokee.

   The quiet did not last long for now the Chesser farm is a living
museum and host to thousands of visitors yearly.

   Several miles west of Chesser Island and near one of the
headwaters of the Suwannee River is the largest island in the swamp -
Billy's Island. On this site lived the Dan Lee family closely related
to the Taylor and Dowling families of Baker County. Dan Lee's father
James laid claim to Billy's Island in the early 1850'sl, and Dan
remained there to rear 14 children until after the turn of the
century. All 14 with the exception of one were born on the island.

   James constructed a double-pen log house that stood until the
state of Georgia sold their land from under his son Dan.

   The Hebard Cypress Company brought in its brand of civilization,
and Billy's Island soon became a bustling little lumber town with a
bank and a movie house. The whistles of tract trains disrupted the
quiet and the Dan Lee family moved away with a settlement of $1,000
and relocated outside.

   The last time this writer saw the Lee cemetery it was overgrown
and, like the remains of the Hebard Company, was falling back into
nature. The swamp always takes over.

   Although never a resident of the swamp, the venerable Obadiah
Barber was its most famous honorary citizen. Often called "the king of
the Okefenokee," Mr. Barber lived up to his epithet by memorizing
every trail and landmark in the swamp as well as holding the dubious
honor of killing more bears than any other known hunter.

   A powerful and large framed man even in his advanced age (he
lived to be 92), Obadiah elicited tales of his strength and derring-do
from all who knew him. The most wide spread was his encounter with a
black bear.

   The story goes that Mr. Barber met up with the large black bear
in the woods and having no weapon with him and having no choice but to
meet the unfriendly creature head on, Mr. Barber dispatched said bruin
with his unaided and unarmed hands. The truth of the tale is, and this
was the way Mr. Barber told it, he found a half-grown bear in his hog
pen one night and with considerable difficulty killed the bear with a
lighterd knot.

   Many good stories could be told about Captain Harry Jackson and
Surveyor John Hopkins and their attempts to drain the Okefenokee. The
great hunters Lem Griffis and Will Cox deserve separate and more
detailed accounts than can be given here. The timbermen and guides are
stories by themselves, but we shall leave them for a brief
introduction to the "Queen of Cowhouse."

   The daughter of an Indian War officer, Mrs. Lydia (nee Smith)
Stone Crews probably excites more ears than all the other swamp people
combined. Over six feet tall and a hefty 200 pounds, Miss Lyddie could
out-work, out figure, and outwit any man alive in her day.

   She started life with one cow and one sow and died a
millionairess. She towered above her first husband and out-aged her
second by 42 years. From her Race Pond home Miss Lyddie ruled a timber
and cattle ranch that stretched from deep within the Okefenokee
through several counties.

   Today they are all gone. The Okefenokee instead rings with the
New Jersey twangs of canoers, is littered with redneck beer cans, and
has none but temporary residents with Sears camping gear.

   She's not the same swamp, but if we would leave her alone for but
a few years she would show us how quickly she could become the old
Okefenokee again.

Correction: Last week your writer said that he had talked with the
great grandmother of a Creek Indian. Not so. He was trying to say
"great granddaughter" and as he is often wont to do..just goofed.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, October 29, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

       The Okefenokee - Assorted legends, haints and boogers

   It is natural that an area as mysterious as the Okefenokee should
evoke tales to be related on chilly fall nights. The ancient Indians
probably started it when they convinced the Spanish explorers that the
dark and intriguing swamp was ringed with seven fortresses of gold and
guarded by a race of giants. Later Indian residents of the lower
southeast told Bartram and others that the swamp's interior was home
to the "Daughters of the Sun."

   DeSoto's chronicler of the famed Spanish explorer's trip into a
swamp believed by many to be the Okefenokee said that the very trees
of that enchanted place turned into warriors and that the skies rained
arrows onto the helpless Spaniards. It has forever since toted the
stigma of being an unfriendly, even hostile, place to intruders from
"the outside."

   Until very recently many of the old time neighbors of the
Okefenokee claimed that none but a few charmed individuals could
traverse the swamp, and they held them in almost reverence. Others
swore that none but those possessing Indian blood in some measure in
their veins could return alive from a trip far into the Okefenokee (a
study of history has demonstrated that the Indians held many of the
same or like attitudes and claimed no more ability to travel or know
the Okefenokee than their white counterparts).

   Although many "enlightened" souls have tried to explain them
away, the traveling lights of the swamp remain implanted, even
impregnated, in the minds of some older heads. The ambulatory
luminescences are held by the older folk as being portents of death
among the family or friends of the one visited by the lights. And they
always have an example of such a demise to prove the legend.

   And what nineteenth century kid was not visited by old
RawHead-and-Bloody-Bones on Halloween (or anytime he, or she, was
naughty)? He was a wonderful apparition who was so real that traces of
his blood could be found next morning by the bravest who dared
investigate the scene of the appearance. It was, we are certain, only
a coincidence that this ancient Anglo-Saxon spook seemed to
materialize after the beef slaughter made possible by the fall's first
chill.

   If old Raw-Head and Bloody-Bones was not enough to freeze the
marrow of kids around old Okefenokee there were always the stories of
the swamp's wildmen (always wild "men" and never "women"). The
strangest part of the wildmen tales is that many of them are true.
They were never the noble and magnificent savages as epitomized by
Edgar Rice Burroughs but were miserable animalistic creatures who had
either been turned out by their embarrassed or frightened families or
who had wandered away from care.

   Some could be clothed and modestly programmed to perform simple
chores. It was said that in the nineteenth century one of two wild men
who were found in the Okefenokee by a group of militia was taught to
chop wood. He chopped wood so well and faithfully tha1 once when he
was left alone with no instructions to stop, he completed his pile and
began on the furniture and the porch.

   Until very recent times, the wildman of Taylor supposedly
startled a few residents of the south side of the swamp. A few
clandestine trysts in the Taylor Cemetery were allegedly interrupted
by the sudden appearances of a nude hirsute gentleman of unkempt and
fearsome countenance making wild gestures and stridulous sounds.

   In addition to the aforementioned spooks and creatures we have
also heard of phantom bears, deer, and big cats, but this column feels
its gentle readers should be informed of the most frightening boogers
of all-the money hungry sonsa' guns who intend to rape a sister and
neighbor of the Okefenokee and the power-and-money-mad public leeches
who plan to let it happen.

   Were you aware, dear readers, that your Federal Government (the
one dependent on you, the voters and taxpayers, for existence) is
rapidly slipping over to the side of the mining interests which will
strip-mine about 18,000 acres of land near the Okefenokee called the
Osceola Forest? That marvelous administration which so many of you
fell all over yourselves to ensconce in Washington City last election
admits it is preparing the way for a criminal-like assault on our
Osceola. Your writer's mother preached to him for years that no matter
what Halloween costume it wore, the Republican Party was the party of
the rich and callous. If it toadies to big business on this count it's
high time your writer and, we hope, his more intelligent readers
re-think party affiliation.

   And while we're at it, did you know that Alton Box Board Company
of Jacksonville plans to alter and drain about 25 miles of the
Okefenokee's largest arm-the Old Pinhook Swamp? For reference, check
out the Gainesville Sun of 8 April, 1981. And if you can't believe
then, call or write Mike Nowicki with the Corps of Engineers in
Jacksonville (P.O. Box 4970, Jacksonville 32232).

   People, you and your beloved swampland, Osceola Forest, water
table (already dangerously low), hunting, and dignity as the public
for whom the public lands are supposedly held in trust are hurting.
Don't be nice. Call, better yet write and call, your congressman and
senators (and the Death Valley kid) with not only an appeal to stop
this nonsense and waste and indulgence of big business greed and
whims, but also with an unequivocal promise to vote for their next
opponent in the very next election if they don't begin to crawdad and
to crawdad now. Nothing alters the philosophy, attitudes, and actions
of a politician as much as the threat of slapping his or her hand out
of the public till.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, November 5, 1881
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

    It's time to mobilize - Against strip-mining in the Osceola

   With fervent and fondest hopes this column waited for reactions
to last week's effusion. We anticipated the subject of digging up the
Osceola would incense readers in droves. But at best, reaction was
minimal. It seems that those who would benefit most from the
preservation of the Osceola Forest are the least concerned.

   In fact, this column believes that once its writer's carcass is
removed from the path of the first bulldozer the old Osceola Forest
will be ultimately destroyed, and, public, with your attitude (or lack
of it) you deserve it.

   There are those of you who negatively believe that big government
cannot be bucked. Contrary to your thinking a handful of North
American Colonial Rebels tackled the then world's mightiest
empire...and - won. A handful of Bolsheviks once toppled one of
history's most authoritarian governments; and tiny Baker County's
election returns once changed the course of American history by
determining a national and state election.

   Letters to the law-makers and executives of your government from
you whose votes determine whether or not they remain in office are
influential...but only if in great numbers. Don't use the excuse that
you don't know what to say. "Do not permit strip mining in the Osceola
Forest" is sufficient. Send your message to your Governor in
Tallahassee and to your Senators in Washington (Lawson Chiles, 443
Russell Bldg. and Paula Hawkins, 1327 Dirksen Bldg., both zips 20510.)
We also strongly urge an additional letter to President Reagan. No, he
won't see your note, but if it arrives with a sufficient additional
number he will be handed the cumulative message by his aides.

   A few points to ponder: (1)When the mining boys talk about
reclaiming the mined land they are not being entirely truthful with
you. Their idea of reclamation is to gently slope the sides of the
mined holes, grass it and plant a few trees that will tolerate almost
sterile soil, and finally stock the ponds with fish. That, folks, is
re-arranging the terrain and is definitely not reclamation.

   True reclamation would be to fill in those holes with
substructure, provide pockets for the storage and passage of
groundwater, cover with a soil of like composition as before, reseed
with exactly the same vegetation and restock with exactly the same
kind and number of wildlife. Do you really think they are going to go
to all that trouble and expense?

   (2) When some of the local commercial minded boys with sugarplum
visions begin to regale you with tales of increased revenues from
local mining and decreased tax burdens on local residents and
businesses, think long and hard - before you get caught up in their
blind delights. First of all, there ain't no such think as increased
economic activity decreasing taxes, increased economic activity, on
the contrary, always creates a need for more services and therefore
more taxes. Will the big boys pay those increased taxes? It's a
dumbhole rationale to believe that those boys got to be rich and you
remained poor by their paying their own way and yours too.

   (3) More Jobs? How many of those companies are going to fire
their current truck drivers and rehire here in Baker County? How many
county resident strip mining experts with experience have you talked
with lately?

   At most, we can expect perhaps a few ladies to get clerical jobs
in their local offices, if there are such, and maybe a few trash jobs
will be available. These people will bring in their own major help,
and when the job is through will move them out again. We'll be
left-with nothing but a few big holes where we once walked, hunted,
and gathered firewood.

   Think about this thing, locals. Don't be sold a bill of rotten
goods by a coalition of big government, big business, and local
dreamers.

   The forest is a long term revenue receiver and will be gathering
revenue long after the 20 or 30 years of mining are over. It will be
the necessary woodsy retreat for your grandkids long after the rest of
our world is concreted over (the businessmen who plan to destroy your
forest can afford to send their grandkids to distant woods for
relaxation compliments of your destroyed forest).

   Allow the forest to be sold out now for a temporary mess of
pottage - and your grandkids will hunger forever for a woodsy world
they were never allowed to experience.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, November 12, 1881
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

                      The turn of the Century

   It has been this writer's observation and experience that the
general public conceives history as an unbroken progressive chain from
bad (in days of yore) to good(our time). The most cursory glance by
even an amateur historian proves such is not the case but that history
has its ups and downs, its cycles, its progressions and regressions.

   When your writer drops historical tidbits on the coffee table -
"Baker County used to have a college and a cultural elite and was
nationally recognized for our horticultural achievements, etc." - his
fellows half smile patronizingly and continue their conversation
(without him) and launch into how wonderful it is that they, the
current generation, were finally born to bring our county into the
modern world.

   Well, Sir, quoting from no less an authority than Memoirs of
Florida Volume II by Rowland H. Rerick and edited by Francis R.
Fleming, we offer some facts and figures on Baker County at the turn
of the century.

   "Baker County, area 538 square miles; population, 4,516,an
increase from 1890 of 1,183 or 35.4 percent, is bounded on the north
by Georgia, and comprises the upper St. Marys River region. The land
along the river is high, rolling pine land, with clay sub-soil,
averaging about three feet below the surface. The rest is flatwoods.
In the northern part of the county the land is flatwoods and swamp.
The Okefenokee Swamp forms the northeastern boundary. There are
several lakes, the largest Olustee or Ocean Pond.

   "The Seaboard Air Line railroad traverses the county from east to
west, and the Atlantic, Valdosta and Western goes through the
northeastern portion. Turpentine is a staple product and this industry
is rapidly extending. The chief crops are sea island cotton, corn,
oats, potatoes, sugar cane, field peas, and peanuts. Baker County is
one of the very finest fruit growing sections of the state, producing
the third largest crop of pears and standing next to the top in the
list of peach growing counties. The quality and flavor of this fruit
cannot be excelled. This county is especially adapted to raising hogs,
chickens, geese, and turkeys; milch cows do well and large quantities
of butter and dairy products are marketed. Macclenny is the county
seat, and Sanderson, Olustee, and Taylor are the other principal
towns. Glen St. Mary is the site of famous fruit nurseries. The Battle
of Olustee or Ocean Pond was fought in this county during the civil
war. There are 3,499 acres of land eligible for homestead entry."

   Elsewhere in Memories of Florida we read that Baker County was
also one of the states leaders in production of sweet potatoes, cane
syrup sugar, field peas, pears, peaches (Baker was the second in
production),grapes, and grape wine (do you suppose this was a
disguised nice way of saying that our county was a leader in moonshine
production?)

   This 1902 writing states that Baker had just recently begun the
growing of desirable cigar leaf tobacco of the Cuban and Sumatran
varieties.

   Of the citrus industry in this county Mr. Rerick
writes:"...Citrus trifollata...imparts hardiness to the graft and
encourages early bearing. In the grove of George L. Taber (sic),
president of the States horticultural society, within eight miles of
the Georgia state line, there was in sight in the fall of 1901 fully a
thousand boxes of oranges, from trees that grew from the ground within
twenty months after a severe freeze."

   Baker also was among the major producers of goats, ducks, and
turkeys, at the beginning of the twentieth century.

   Mention is made that Baker's yellow pine stands were being
depleted and that at the present rate of cutting most of the state
would soon run out of trees. Conservation measures were called for.
Eighty years ago and on into the decade of the twenties there were
extensive tracts of Baker County with few or no trees of any kind,
especially pines, victims of lack of foresight.

   Mr. Rerick also wrote at great length on the state's phosphate
resources and kept making remarks that began to edge dangerously close
to Baker County, when he wrote of Columbia County's store of
phosphate. Eighty years later he might include Baker's store but also
reemphasize his warnings of depleting our forests as thousands of
acres of Baker and Columbia will be dug up with no chance of that land
ever growing another pine.

   This column is deeply indebted to Mrs. Louise Mrosz for sharing
with us her volume of Memoirs of Florida.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, November 19, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

                      Data from some old maps

   Your writer has long entertained a fascination for maps. Maps
seem to have it all together, giving relationships of places to each
other, echoing romantic tales of the past, and hinting of adventure to
come.

   This columnist's cousin, Ward Barnes, has been researching in the
National Archives in Washington, D.C., and has shared some of his
findings in the form of maps with us.

   An 1839 map of the Okifenokee (sic) Swamp by Lt. Robert M. McLane
shows Ft. Moniac situated about half way between Traders Hill and the
Suwannee River and on an army and settler route that completely
circumscribed the swamp. On the west side was Breakfast Branch and on
the east was the River Styx.

   Immediately north of Ft. Moniac were several islands, only two
named - Morris Island and Wolf Island. Morris Island seems to
correspond with the currently named Soldier Camp Island. A Captain
Morris had entered the swamp at Ft. Tompkins (apparently near the
present Camp Cornealia), according to the map, and after a circuitous
trip evidently camped and campaigned among those islands. This
campaign could possibly be the historical side of the old timers'
tales regarding the Indians being driven out of the swamp and through
Baker County.

   Other interesting points and differences on Lt. McLane's map are
the depiction of a giant lake within the swamp's very center which is
named Lake Loomis, and what is now called the CornHouse Section
southwest of Traders Hill which was labeled Lower Cow House.

   From circa 1750 comes a map of Georgia and parts of Carolina,
Louisiana, and Florida drawn by His Majesty's cartographer, Emanuel
Bowen. He places the Yamassee Indians in the area which would most
likely be the present counties of Charlton (Georgia) and Baker
(Florida). The Saint Marys River joins the Altamaha River in Mr.
Bowen's map, and the two are shown as beginning in a large lake which
is fed by four smaller streams, purported to be the Okefenokee.

   Although Mr. Bowen was mistaken about the confluence of the Saint
Mary's and the Altamaha, he was uncannily correct with the route above
the Okefenokee that ran from what we can safely assume to be the area
of Coleraine to the Mississippi River and with a forking branch into
the Appalachian Mountains.

   The southerly Lower Creek Nation road (all these were more
properly known at the time as paths) lay from St. Augustine northward
to west of the present Jacksonville and struck out west to a town at
the confluence of the Flint and Chattahoochee Rivers. This route is
just below the Okefenokee's south side streams, which might have
mistakenly been the South and Middle Prongs of the St. Mary's River
(remember, the man was working from others' reports).

   It is this writer's opinion that the above described route lay
through Baker County. Mr. Bowen is careful to distinguish this Creek
Nation path from the more publicized Spanish Trail which ran just
south of the county. He does this by depicting "the Road from St.
Marks" (the Spanish Trail), also beginning on the west side of the St.
Johns River, as a divaricate route from the afore-described Lower
Creek Nations southerly road.

   Mr. Bowen informs his map readers which Indian groups are
friendly to whom, or "in amity with..." A true chauvinistic
Englishman, he states that the Apalachee Indians were "destroyed in
1705 by the Creek Indians" rather than by the English and their Creek
allies.

   A map of east Florida from about 1822 is a combination of amazing
accuracy (considering the lack of aerial photography)and inexcusable
inaccuracies (a simple walk with a compass would have corrected many
of them). The course of the Saint Mary's River is almost perfect, but
heads of that stream extend fifty miles or more up into Georgia, and
the Okefenokee is totally omitted. Big Creek (South Prong) runs
incorrectly from the southeast and the Middle Prong runs from the
north rather than from the west.

   As did so many of the early maps of this area, the Middle Prong
is shown as rising in Ocean Pond. On this map Ocean Pond and the
Okefenokee have become confused as one and the resultant feature is
sitting on the Florida-Georgia line. Trail Ridge also suffers an
identity problem in that it has become part of the high backbone of
the peninsula which in fact is many miles west of it.

   Other close-by features familiar to us and which are included on
this 160 year old map are Palestine or Dobson Lake (unnamed), New
River, Brandy Creek(not "Branch" on this chart), Little Suwannee, and
Black Creek Cowford is listed on the St. John's River, and the Kings
Road crosses all the little streams which are known to us today -
Boggy, Thomas, and Alligator Creeks.

   A route is drawn forking from the King's Road at what is now
known as the Rowe Settlement west of Hilliard in Nassau County. It
crosses Mill Creek and touches the Saint Mary's River at Brandy
Branch. From there it crosses the South Prong (Little St. Mary's) just
south of the present McClenny, and continues to Bradford County's
Alligator Creek and the Santa Fe River and Alachua, hence its name
"the Alachua Trail."

   The boundary separating the white settlements from the Indian
lands ran approximately through the present Baldwin. Today's Baker
County was entirely within those Indian lands.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, November 26, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

                    Thanksgiving feasts of old

   As we approach Thanksgiving, thoughts turn to (what
else?)...Thanksgiving. And as others sit around being thankful, your
writer spends a lot of time pondering upon food. He can't help it; he
was reared that way. He came from two long lines of food appreciators,
one via each parent (and the term is "food appreciators, not
"gluttons" although your writer more correctly fits the latter).

   On Thanksgiving there was always the turkey, a gigantic aromatic
carcass that filled the oven and took two to lift and turn. She was
certain to be bogged down in, and filled with, savory cornbread
dressing; not your bland and slick lightbread dressing, but a
substantial sage-and-onion-crowded concoction. And it wasn't
"stuffing". It was, is, and evermore shall be "dressing."

   Our families would have been embarrassed if the turkey had been
the sole meat course. In combinations or all, there would also be
fresh pork roast, a cured ham, maybe a beef or venison roast, and
chicken in all its delightful and creative Cracker forms.

   Besides chicken fried (without all the secret spices, herbs, and
seasonings that cover up the taste of the bird), there was chicken and
rice, or perlow, and chicken and dumplings. The writer's families'
dumplings were not your insipid puffballs that went to gooey pieces
with every stir, but could be better described as thick noodles.

   Enough eggs were added to plain flour to make a crumbly yellow
mass. Sufficient spicy greasy broth from the stewed hen was added to
make a workable paste; Heavily floured, rolled thin, and cut into the
cook's favorite shapes and sizes, the dumplings were dropped into
boiling broth to create a delectable dish almost too good for Queen
Elizabeth herself. The longer they simmered the tastier they were, and
they could stand re-heating and stirring for days (but they never made
it into the second day at our house).

   Every esculent among the local vegetable scene was on our
table(our kids were not taught that there were foods, especially
vegetables, that they did not like). Frost-nipped collards (everybody
complained about the odor but didn't let that slow down their
appetites for them), barely wilted young mustard, sweet tater
souffle'(known in generations before as "mudgeon"), yellow squash
lightly stewed with butter or bacon grease and onions, and either late
fresh peas and green beans or from the summer's canning sessions.

   Ambrosia was a messy chore worth all the effort and slung fruit
juice. Everything was fresh, if possible, except for the bright
bottled cherries, even the coconut. It was always served in the
largest and prettiest glass bowl and, your writer believes, always
given a place of honor on the table or sideboard second only to the
turkey. We remember the annual discourse on how it was fruit salad if
the coconut was missing but became ambrosia with the addition of
coconut. We don't know where those definitions came from, but they
were good enough for us.

   The dessert table was sinful. Pies of mincemeat (occasionally the
mince would even be homemade), pumpkin (usually both the heavily
spiced and milder types), sweet potato (probably not the world's most
perfect food, but close to it), stackbread (more often served in
summer when the jellies were fresh but sometimes making it to the
holiday tables),pecan (truly the most glutton inspiring of them all),
chocolate, and lemon (the last two, of course, don't get to anybody's
tables now except via the frozen prepared kind or from a box. We
assume there has been a federal court halt to their being made from
basic ingredients).

   A few of us remember the old fashioned red devil's food that was
not only welcomed by our taste buds but amazed us that it had no
artificial red food coloring in it. This food creation has also been
relegated to memory and no longer graces our tables.

   As certain as the presence at a holiday table of the relative who
never brought anything but always hauled food away be the dishpanful
was the fruitcake..indubitably the South's most overrated food item.
The writer's grandmother made the worst of them all. It took days and
nights to cut up the cloying sweet things that she assured us was
candied fruit. There was day and night feeding the wood stove for even
temperature, a few days to ripen it, and finally the big day when the
first slice was cut...a black smelly, icky-tasting slab of something
that everybody whooped and hollered about, but we suspect they did the
same as your writer...found some place to spit it.

   We admit we did not spend much time being concerned about the
starving masses while we gorged (after all, we had to toted our one
item of canned goods to the church for the poor folk's baskets).
Without boasting, the family knew we had helped feed our unfortunate
neighbors here in the county when times had been rougher.

   Eating had always been our one big luxury, and on Thanksgiving we
indulged..and we were thankful.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, December 3, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS Gene Barber

                     Looking ahead at Olustee

   Annually risking the accusations of "unreconstructed rebel", we
once again remind our readers of the approaching anniversary of the
1864 Federal Florida Campaign. We know it better as the Battle of
Ocean Pond or Olustee.

   For the past few years the Florida Department of Natural
Resources has sponsored the very popular re-enactment of the conflict
on the weekend nearest the battle's date of February twentieth. Our
alert and forward thinking neighbors in Columbia County have performed
admirably in staging a ceremonial and festive complement to the
reenactment.

   Although your writer strongly disapproves of several historians'
and state brochure writers' habit of placing the battle site in
Columbia County, he firmly believes that the battle celebration
belongs to Lake City. This attitude is based on that community's prior
interest in, and imaginative utilization of, the event.

   However, much of the pre-and-post battle activities belong to
Baker County. From the moment the first recorded United States troops
crossed Trail Ridge into this county several days prior to the battle
and until the last stragglers of that vanquished and sad army
recrossed the Ridge to safely, it was primarily a campaign on Baker
County soil.

   It would be almost a century before Baker County's population
would match the numbers of Federal troops encamped at the present day
McClenny. On the twentieth of February, 1864, the size of the opposing
armies was almost the current population of the county. It is clearly
the largest and most important event in this county's history and
among the history-changing events of the state.

   Why commemorate the battle at all? This column suggests it was an
event of potential lessons to be learned, and those lessons have not
been learned yet. We offer some of the unusual aspects of the Federal
Florida Campaign of 1864.

   A dangerous precedent could have been set when President Lincoln
blatantly ignored the accepted chain of command and directed the
commanding officer to proceed with the Florida Campaign. Whether the
event was good or bad, right or wrong, it was basically wrong for a
president to personally interfere in military matters, and the
American people must hope and guard against their supreme leader ever
again possessing that power. Some might know how to use it, but others
will only create disasters like Olustee and the Bay of Pigs.

   Not wishing to take away any of Lincoln's luster (Heaven knows
his good points will always outweigh his weak ones), but Olustee can
also remind his worshippers that he was primarily a politician and
that he was influenced to order the Florida Campaign by a handful of
petty politicians from Florida who sought after-the-war spoils for
themselves. They presented a convincing argument that a Florida
victory would be sure to return him to office.

   Eventually, enough interest in Olustee by way of the annual
re-enactment will be certain to bring those dusty letters out of the
National Archives regarding the hundreds of U.S. soldiers and some
score or so of Confederates buried at the battle site, and those men's
graves will someday be acknowledged and marked.

   Strangely, the commanding officer of the losing army was regular
army, trained, and professional, whereas the commander of the winning
troops was a part time, non-professional, gentleman soldier. In
addition, the men of the losing side were mostly trained military men
of the Regular U.S. Army, but the victorious men were largely
untrained militia soldiers. A great majority of the losers believed in
what they were doing and had a fair idea of what it was all about, but
the winners were mostly opposed to secession and few were aware of
what secession meant But fighting for home and family can make a great
difference.

   Olustee can also be a reminder of how a nation can sometimes
treat, or mis-treat, its most loyal citizens. After General Seymour
had led his men on a tough twenty mile march, with them with the sun
in their eyes, fought against men who blended with the pines, and
dragged twenty miles in retreat, he was castigated by the U.S. press
and his military superiors. He died an ex-patriate in Italy.

   Finegan, a gentleman but not a professional soldier, won the
battle, prevented the severing of Florida from the Confederacy, and
secured a great morale boost for the Confederacy in the last days of
her existence but was immediately set upon by the press and military
of the South for not pursuing his victory to the ultimate destruction
of the Yankee troops. He lost his Fernandina home and business and
died quietly and unsung in DeLand.

   Baker County's annual participation in the Battle reenactment
would be an effective vehicle for renewing ties between the county and
its western step-child Olustee. The people of the community of Olustee
have much more to offer their county than votes at election time.
Let's get reacquainted with them. Let them get reacquainted with the
rest of us. We are all one.

   The Baker County Chamber of Commerce has begun to investigate
ways in which this county can become involved with the annual
re-enactment. This column heartily endorses that effort and recommends
that our readers seek them out with encouragement and offers of
assistance.

_____________________________________________________________________________

       THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, December 10, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

                          Christmas 1981

   In other years this column has devoted its seasonal effusions to
thoughts of holidays past. However, for the sake of posterity we wish
to record our observations of this current Christmas.

   The first big shopping day for Christmas in Macclenny (Saturday,
December fifth) was sunny-bright, crisp, and breezy. Even with the
bank closed, a healthy sized throng was milling and rolling through
town. Mr. Varnes and his crew had the light pole decorations in place
just in time.

   The beer cans and other litter in the parking lots had assumed an
extra festive glow and sparkle. From nearby music boxes (actually
radios and other sound systems in 4 x 4's and TransAms) wafted the
sweet strains of "I Love My Truck" and "He Stopped Loving Her Today."

   The permanent (and, Lord, so very attractive) yard sales were in
place early and were joined by a myriad others filling every unused
drive and vacant lot until the entire town put one in mind of one
gigantic flea market. Happy shoppers were rummaging and plundering
through other people's throwaways in a manner most reminiscent of
oriental rug merchants on bazaar day.

   Driving past the tasteful displays we took note of a TV ceramic
night light in the form of the three wise men, genuine hand painted
velvet pictures of Elvis, a nativity scene including as worshippers
Santa Claus and Jerry Falwell, used drug paraphernalia, half empty
bottles of after shave lotions and the world's most exciting
fragrances, plastic flower arrangements, racks of shapeless dresses, a
tattered couch this writer had hauled to the dump last week, and other
delightful discards and rejects from dozens of now happier homes.

   One enterprising and nervous lad displayed a set of shiny new hub
caps (oops, we mean "wheelcovers". Another gentleman was hawking the
January issue of Hustler magazine at a greatly inflated price (Caveat
emptor! That particular page giving international attention to
McClenny's choice sample of female pulchritude might be missing).

   There were the usual bake sales and benefit candy sellers, most
with outstretched palms and intimidating gibes.

   Beyond the din and cluster stood the rows of empty store spaces,
once scenes of happy Saturday bustling.

   In the grocery stores the deprived and indigent purchased
microwavable pastries with food stamps and held up the line while
arguing with the clerk about their rights to also use the stamps for
beer and kitty litter. Your columnist, in the true spirit of
Christmas, waited patiently and abjectly with his
three-cans-of-generic-brand-soup-for-a-dollar. One young swinger
solved his problem; he bought chewing gum with a food stamp and
immediately purchased cigarettes with his change (so help us!).

   Returning home we discovered fresh stumps of two more cedars cut
from our yard. We lose a few more each year at this joyous time (we
secretly hope Santa Claus refuses to visit those Christmas tree
purloiners).

   We heard the annual holiday moans from all sides about inflation
and frayed nerves. Nobody seemed to understand that all this madness
is voluntary. No one seemed to know that even if we have slipped into
this snowballing Yuletide silliness by grasping at anything we
consider to be pleasurable and pain-erasing in our very fast, very
commercial world...we can stop.

   For the remainder of this season in our columns we shall remind
our readers of gentler Christmases of the past, but until then we wish
all a very merry neurotic holiday.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        THE BAKER COUNTY PRESS, Thursday, December 17, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

                       To a mellow Christmas

   A kind reader responded to our last week's column, and we
herewith reproduce it in its entirety: "Dear Mr. Barber, as a new
resident in the county I depend on The Press to keep me informed on
local events and on your column to gain an insight into the people and
history I've moved into. I enjoy most of your writing, but I wonder if
your cynicism might not be influencing me toward a wrong impression.
Do you ever have anything nice to say about anything? Would it be
possible for you to say something more mellow during the Christmas
season? Sincerely, One-In Love-With Baker-County."

   Seems like we've been taken to task. It just so happens, Ms.
One-In Etc., that a bit of seasonal nostalgic fluff was intended for
this week and next. Thanks for the lead.

   ----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Ms. One-In-Love-With-Baker County,

   I was once in love with our county too (still love it). I had a
long-standing love affair with Baker County, and it was fanned anew
each year about this time.

   I loved the church Christmas trees. They were not an item but a
time, and they were very nondenominational, almost genuinely
ecumenical at times. In those days most of our people were Christian
first and denominational second, or third. Something about Christmas
made us more tolerant then. Each church scheduled its Christmas Tree
Program to avoid conflicting with the others.

   I liked the last minute gift buying in downtown McClenny, the
good-natured jostle in the dimestores, "Merry Christmas's" you could
believe. I thrilled at the two strings of colored lights over US 90 at
McClenny's city limits, the privilege of making Christmas cards for
"the boys overseas", and riding into Jacksonville to see the rich
folks' decorations.

   I now realize how narrow, shallow, and chauvinistic I was when as
a child I wondered if people in Baldwin and Sanderson knew how to
celebrate Christmas in the enlightened manner of us McClennians.

   There were Christmas baskets for the poor, gathered
community-wide (the baskets not the poor. Well, actually, the poor
were too). I now understand that those we call "poor" in our county
today would have been mighty rich back then. The Sunday School
teachers eyed my offered items for the baskets as being greatly less
than necessary, but I knew crayons and books were needed almost as
much as groceries by some people.

   Christmas programs at the schools...those delightful mixtures
(and mix-ups) of Christianity and paganism. They were such wonderful
vehicles for our creativity when it came to devising the star of
Bethlehem. The sheperds always wore their daddies' bathrobes and had
redbugs for weeks from their Spanish moss beards. We always came home
with the wrong towels that were our headdresses. I'll never forget the
year one kid almost had a stroke when the teacher announced that Jesus
was a Jew...he could have sworn, he said, that Jesus was Holiness.

   We visited in those days. And it was absolutely permissible to
offer guests something to drink other than booze. We sang around the
parlor organ and made peanut brittle. There were hayrides and
caroling, apple juice and wienie roasts.

   A tree up as long as two weeks before Christmas was evidence of a
weird Person (notice how we get them up the day after Thanksgiving
now?). a hold over from the days when Santa did the trimming on
Christmas Eve. Nobody but a few arty persons used anything but
multicolored strings of lights. Mrs. Nellie Day used all blue in the
Suwannee Store.

   The Lions Club had a party for the poor kids, and the Earle
Theatre treated the town's children to a show.

   Since Christmas was limited to only about two weeks out of the
year (that included the week between Christmas and New Years)and gift
giving was limited to Christmas , birthdays , and Mothers Day, it
meant more to us. We looked forward to that holiday then because it
didn't happen all year.

   Yes, Ms. One-In-Etc., I can get mellow about Christmas, but I
fear the mishandling and abuse of a great and beautiful holiday leaves
me a bit cold at times.

   This year I shall tend to my visiting, stoke up a fire, wrap up
in memories, and share a cup of eggnog with ol' Santa. Bet I'll have a
nicer Christmas than you.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        THE BAKER COUNTRY PRESS, Thursday December 24, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

                       After 'The Day After'

   Do doubt some were, as was your columnist, taken in by all the
hype and hoopla about Sunday evening's ABC television docu-drama The
Day After. No doubt, almost all of you, as did your columnist, dozed
through most of it.

   This Is not to say we thought the subject trite; it was just a
poor movie.

   Actually, your columnist had no intention of watching (he eschews
depressing themes of any kind). He accepted an invitation to be a part
of an audience at a panel discussion about the movie's subject that
was to be televised the night after, and he had little choice but to
watch.

   The Ed McCullers-produced, Ernie Mastroianni-hosted program was
greatly more effective than the greatly touted TV movie. Your
columnist left the studio feeling much more informed (and perhaps a
bit more frightened)than ten of those ABC movies could have done for
him.

   Of course, your columnist found himself in trouble right off the
bat when he and his partner walked into the studio. The nice young
lady with clipboard in hand eyed them with suspicion when she could
not find their names among the invited guests. The nice young rabbi
behind us who jokingly suggested that we looked like trouble-makers
did not alleviate the nice young lady's fears.

   After settling down in the auditorium and being introduced to the
situation of being televised, we heard Mr. Mastroianni's welcome and
further instructions. When he alluded to the docu-drama's poor
quality, we McClenny folk broke into wild applause.

   We seemed to be the only ones to do so.

   We shall mention right here that our partner was the inimitable
and affable Ms. Jemsa Whizdum (yes, readers, we think she has overed
her recent poor health and other stuff and will be back with us real
soon). Ms. Whizdum's primary question was, "If the bomb hits McClenny
and there is a rush on the grocery stores here, will they give double
coupons?"

   Your columnist endeavored to keep her from the microphone. The
hosts seemed quite relieved also.

   Referring back to paragraph two, we reiterate...the subject. Is
of life-or-death-importance. However, we contend that movies such as
The Day After do little to keep that in the public's mind. It does, on
the contrary, make the subject, to some weird folks, almost laughable.

   This corner feels that more locally produced programs such as the
one Monday night, and with great emphasis on the very probable effects
of a nuclear bomb (forget the megatons stuff; just talk about bombs)
on very definite places such as Yulee, Middleburg, the Beaches,
Baldwin, and...McClenny, will prompt more concern about seeking out
information on protecting ourselves as possible survivors.

   Let's face it, we have the nuclear arsenals, and either side
feels that it would be a fool to toss them away while the other(seen
as a bully by the other side...and don't start calling this writer a
Communist; he is just talking straight stuff) keeps theirs for some
fool to accidentally push a button and send off. Nobody is going to
disarm. And, very likely, nobody among the big powers is stupid enough
to use the, bombs and missiles, but accidents will happen.

   This column thinks our best bet is (1) learn all the possible
effects and protection possible, (2) prepare ourselves individually as
dictated by number 1, (3) begin to return congress persons and senate
persons home who either rattle swords (or bombs and missiles) or who
act so puerile as to say, "Here now, we've tossed our weapons away.
Won't you do the same?"

   In discussions such as these, some folks express surprise that
your columnist is not, as they think they deduce, against nuclear
weapons. Well, hear it now and hear it right...your columnist IS
against nuclear weapons, and he doesn't like guns, bows and arrows, or
slingshots. But they are all here, and we might as well learn how to
live with them and use them properly.

   There is no better place to begin than at home with those kids of
yours who "never do anything wrong" (on our way home from the nuclear
weapons panel discussion program, we saw a kid trying to shoot a stray
dog with a bow and arrow). The powers that be will probably hold off
destroying the world for a generation or two (don't get too complacent
though). If they do, perhaps we can raise up a new generation with
more sense than ours or of that we're raising, and they will solve the
problem for future ones.

   Killing is not nice. It should not be condoned. If should not be
viewed as entertainment (as in chainsaw murder movies). It should not
be accepted as sport when the hunt is for nothing but pleasure and
hunt is one-sided. It should not be gloated over when the victim
(animal, bird, or whatever) had no chance to begin with.

   Killing is not nice. It should be discouraged.

   Happy Thanksgiving.

_____________________________________________________________________________

        THE BAKER COUNTRY PRESS, Thursday December 31, 1981
                  THE WAY IT WAS-Gene Barber

                    Potpourri of the year 1981

   This column wishes to add to the tedium and redundancy of the
news media usual recaps of the old year with its own list of the
year's top events.

   Starting off the year was the seemingly interminable freezing
weather. Your columnist's plants actually froze in his bedroom.
MaNature later counter-balanced with a summer containing an
unprecedented number of above 100 degrees days. Chickens died by the
tens of thousands, and everybody was asked to conserve water in the
midst of an all-Florida drought (hardly anybody took it seriously).

   Arsonists got lots of their own peculiar thrills by keeping the
woods afire in our part of the state. Schools were closed, traffic
delayed, and tourism dropped in neighboring areas. Many buildings were
burned nationally and several people killed by the same type of
flame-happy idiots.

   Good news in January, locally and everywhere: return of the
hostages.

   The Glen Saint Mary Town Council entered the year upset over a
fence on town property and continued to attract unwanted and
unflattering publicity throughout the year in heated debates and
unfortunate accusations.

   We discovered that the county's proposed airport wasn't likely to
get off the ground, so to speak, since the hoped-for property was not
for sale. In fact, the owners said they learned of interest in their
property through the newspapers.

   A fine gentleman Lonnie Jones was honored after 36 years with the
Macclenny Post Office. R.A. "Buzzy" Green made a name for himself as
Circuit Court Judge handing out stiff justice to child support dodgers
and sex offenders. He was later transferred (we the public will
frequently cryout for law and order, but we won't tolerate it when
directed at us or ours.

   Mrs. Mary Raulerson, Mr. Theron Groves, and Mr. John J. DuFour,
children of Confederate Veterans, were given lifetime honorary
memberships in the Baker County Historical Society. Carol Baker, an
outstanding local artist was judged first in the prestigious arts
auction for Jacksonville's Stereo 90 and Channel 7.

   Other Baker Countians who experienced the life of fame and the
beginning of success: Brenda (nee Bones) Ridge'll, Fashion Coordinator
and Clothes Manager for Jacksonville's Jones College Fashion Show;
Nancy Furr, a member of the Florida School of the Arts Pop Ensemble;
and James "the Giant" Croft, hitting the big time in the Grand Ol'
Opry.

   Protest against strip mining the Osceola Forest...heartwarming
coalition of sweet little ol' ladies, Audubon folks, and good ol' boys
plus a lot of other genuinely concerned people of no particular
category. The local town meeting was most successful in informing the
locals and the entire Jacksonville area of all the facts. This column
believes that was the prime turning point, but the job isn't
finished..stay alert.

   The county was saddened, shocked, and frightened by the shooting
in our neighboring community of Baldwin of a State Trooper and a
resident of Baldwin. Your columnist was later told that as he had been
taking his daily walk, the convict was sharing the same pasture as an
escape route.

   Macclenny's Last Man Club, composed of gentlemen who grew up in
old McClenny, finally relented and invited their ladies to join them
for their 1981 get together

   Musician Carolyn Adams penned a song about the county, and it was
introduced at the Baker County Arts Festival (mistakenly labeled "the
First". The Arts Fest was the latest and most successful of several
held on the streets of McClenny since the 1960's.

   There was a little flak and flap regarding BCHS seniors tippling
on a trip to Disneyworld. Why this made news now, we can't understand;
we know personally that high school seniors have been sneaking booze
on trips for over 30 years. Other high school graduates made us proud.
Terry Szanto, for instance, became our first graduate of a U.S.
military academy.

   We were a bit closer to the Nimitz disaster when we learned that
John Peden, the husband of a Baker County woman, Virginia Ruise, was
aboard. Another tragedy, but almost of the horror movie sort, was the
death by fireants of a woman passing through the county.

   The County Rescue Program became an item unwanted by anybody. We
don't think that had anything to do with Rescue 32 being stolen at
NEFSH. We feel it's time to stop thinking of Rescue as a bean bag and
get the matter settled before we lose it (and one of us reading, or
writing, this needs it).

   Heated races for council seats in McClenny and Glen ended with
some upsets. One of Glen's races was settled by a flip of a coin, thus
raising not a few eyebrows. Once the dust had settled, the McClenny
Police Department was abolished, and soon the sheriff assumed duties
in the city. A long, bitter, tiresome, and expensive feud was finally
ended.

   1981 seemed to be the year of tragedy and heartbreak for the
county. The Raynor-Fox plane crash was one those sad disasters we
thought we only read about happening to other people in other
places...never to our own.

   We know it is most dangerous to single out any death as being
more significant than any other, but we must mention the untimely
death of our friend (and indeed mankind's friend) Iris Parish. Only
the Supreme Being is aware of the scope and depth of the woman's
contributions to this area and her concern for suffering (You were an
unsung heroine, Parish, and if I could sing, I'd hum a few bars just
for you. Thank You).

   For this writer, the Glen Centennial was clearly the big good
news. An estimated 8,000 to10,000 in attendance and an economy
enrichment of over $100,000.00 (your writer, for instance made 27
cents an hour staging the celebration) placed it with the County
Centennial of 1961 and the Battle of Olustee in 1864 as being the
three biggest events of the county's history.

   The second County Fair was bigger and better than the first. Now
they need more room. 1981 marked the first time the Fair staged its
own parade (there were four within a month's time.

   As the year ended, locally, the Citizens Bank ended a very long
tradition closing on Thursday and being open on Saturday; progress was
being made toward restoring the old county courthouse-library; the
county was neck deep in garbage fees arguments; and McClenny gained
national notoriety as being the home of a candid (very candid) photo
queen.

                       Biggest Bores Of The Year.
                        By Gene Barber

Feud between the departments of Sheriff and city police
Cronkite leaving CBS Evening News
Baseball strike
Diana's wedding dress and selection of hats
Haig and Allen's feud
Allen and the Japanese magazines
Brooke Shields
The 1981 Florida Legislature
The adolescent Barron-childers feud
All and anything connected to Peter Abbott
The Jax Tea Men

Most Over Rated, Manipulated, and drained news stories of the year:

British riots
Hunger strike
Baseball strike
Diana's wedding dress and selection of hats
Air controllers strike
AWACS sale
Alexander Haig
Allen and the Japanese magazine
The Barnett-King law suit
Brooke Shields' nude pictures at 10
Lt. Comdr Allen Spicer's alleged crash
All and anything connected to Peter Abbott
The Jax Tea Men