Marco in the New Age

A New Age, in retrospect, is all about current events. Chitchat about current events can often be a sandspur on the barefoot of many emotions. When gossip and rumor add too much spice to everyday news, the devil will always be in the details when it comes to age-old comparisons.

In 1925, life for Marco Islanders was in a state of turmoil. The ferry from the Isles of Capri was a battered barge with a worn-out, smoking diesel, and many were wondering how the new cars from Henry Ford would cross the river and land on the modern shores of Collier City. The signpost over the Marco ferry landing was boasting: “Welcome to Collier City,” but many were concerned the rattletrap ferry was not going to welcome anyone for much longer.

The Atlantic Coast Railway Line was laying tracks out to the island and plans were underway for a railroad trestle to cross the river. Many islanders were upset that a bridge would be bad for fishing and others were angry that a trestle would block boats that were heading to Goodland. Any of the few who owned a car wanted the bridge to be wide enough for Model Ts, but the railroad folks wanted nothing to do with automotive and trucking traffic. Cars and trucks were bad for business.

In Washington, Calvin Coolidge was president, but many islanders hated his polices that kept prohibition and the sale of alcohol illegal. Other islanders were praying that the ban on beer, wine, and hard liquor would continue. Cuba was only 170 miles from Marco, and anyone with a decent boat could become a rumrunner in only a few days. For many, Cuban rum was the secret gold rush to the island.

Most islanders were worried about the local economy. The rumors about the growing lack of clams for the two clam factories were a major concern, and gossip that the pineapples were getting smaller at the Ludlow fruit farm was making many islanders wonder what kind of trouble was coming next.

Anyone who worked at a clam factory was ready to tell anyone who would listen that the clams were not as good as the previous years. The folks at Burnham’s in Caxambas claimed a dangerous blight had started and the clams were not as big, healthy, and plentiful as before. The boiler stokers, the dredgers, and canning crew down at the Doxsee Clam Factory were claiming the Burnham boys were taking more than their fair share and damaging the shellfish business for everyone.

In other rumors, gossip, and news, the radio was a newfangled contraption that was making Marco Islanders go crazy. The big radios with the even bigger boxes—that the younger folks were calling batteries—were maybe the biggest sensation for 1925. Anyone who was anybody came down on Saturday nights to The Collier’s Inn and Mercantile to listen to WSM and The Grand Old Opry. The new radio show had just started coming down through invisible waves in the air. The voices over the speaker were claiming the show was bringing a live Saturday night party all the way from Nashville, Tennessee. The Collier family at “The Inn” was always happy to host the Saturday night special, because the Colliers were from Tennessee, and, as any sensible person knew, the hillbillies from Tennessee were the best guitar pickers in the world. Along with the Saturday night radio show—when no one was looking—was a splash or two of smuggled Cuban rum.

Many of the older islanders did not approve of what the youngsters were doing on Saturday nights. More than a few were thinking the hillbillies caterwauling out of the radio was actually the devil at work. Many others thought the invisible radio waves were causing headaches, the water from the wells to taste funny, and the milk to go sour. Another group was convinced the weather had not been right ever since the radio started working on the air. Also well-known, but only whispered about by decent folks, was what was happening when the demon rum began to slip into coffee cups on the Collier Saturday nights and the youngsters began walking down to the docks for kisses in the dark.

Just before Thanksgiving, another plague bigger than the radio and almost bigger than the 1920 hurricane came to the island. A team of horses and a painted wagon full of Gypsies crossed over on the ferry just like regular folks, but after the foreigners opened the wagon and set up shop, the trouble started. The grizzled old man was not a bad fellow, and his bottles of root tonic did make folks feel better, especially if they bought more than one bottle. The sultry granddaughter was a true dark-eyed beauty and full of naughty promise, but when the old witch from the old country got out her crystal ball and began to read fortunes and call out the future, most decent folks were ready to tar and feather the bunch and run them out of town.

After dark, the old woman with her glowing crystal ball was telling everyone who would listen that one day, Marco would be one of the fanciest places in all of Florida. She was also saying that the mangroves would be cleared away to make a hundred miles of waterfront homes, and Collier City would have a new name and be famous all over the world. She told anyone who would listen that in a hundred years, newfangled inventions would make more worry, trouble, and arguments, but even with all the new ideas and contraptions, and all the fighting everywhere, most kids would grow up to be just like their parents.