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In this installment of our history column, we will continue examining the early aftermath of Miami’s incorporation in July 1896. Not surprisingly, this period was both eventful and colorful, but excepting the ongoing work on Henry M. Flagler’s cavernous Royal Palm Hotel, most of the activities and initiatives did not presage the city’s illustrious future as a tourist Mecca or its colorful real estate saga. More importantly, these early Miami moments portray a city remarkably different from today’s mega-municipality, a frontier settlement closely connected to both its recent frontier past and its unique subtropical environment.
A bizarre, “only in Miami” event came in August 1896, when James Olmstead and several companions were “bathing” in the Miami River at nighttime. Suddenly, Olmstead disappeared underwater before rising to the surface “with a screech and struck out bravely for the shore.” Upon reaching the shore, an agitated Olmstead announced that he had been attacked by a large alligator. Large wounds on the breast, back and arm attested to Olmstead’s claim, as well as the profuse bleeding that he was experiencing.
What apparently saved the victim was his awareness that if one gouged at the eyes of the reptile, he would loosen his grip on his prey, which is what Olmstead did with his free left hand. Olmstead was then taken by boat across the river where Dr. James M. Jackson cleaned and dressed his wounds. In its account of the incident, the Miami Metropolis complained that “For some time a lot of boys have been fooling with a reptile by baiting him with dogs, cats, etc, and at the same time going in bathing nearby.” The journal added, with a hint of gleefulness, “There is no one bathing around the river at the present time, however.”
Less than three weeks later, a rapidly healing Olmstead was out for revenge commencing a hunt for the reptile. After locating the alligator near the site of the earlier attack, Olmstead put four charges of buckshot through its head. When the animal was brought up on the dock nearby, he was measured at 10 feet, seven inches in length and weighed about 250 pounds.
Not everything noteworthy in the infant city was accompanied by drama. Around the time of the reptilian attack, leading lights of Florida’s Democratic Party visited Miami as guests of the municipality. They visited various points of interest in Biscayne Bay before stopping on the southern tip of Key Biscayne to assess the prospects of improving the channel into the Bay from the contiguous Atlantic Ocean. (A year later, Henry Flagler would complete the Biscayne Channel, allowing vessels to move from the mouth of the Miami River through the bay to the deep, dark waters of the Atlantic.) Afterwards, they motored back to Cocoanut (sic) Grove for a “first-class dinner” at Charles and Isabella Peacock’s eponymous inn.
Baseball was early Miami’s most popular sport, and its chief venue were the grounds in front of the rising Royal Palm Hotel, an area corresponding to today’s S.E. 3rd Avenue between Second and E. Flagler Street. On the field’s east flank were the waters of Biscayne Bay. On a warm Sunday in late August 1896, a contest between the steamfitters and the plumbers, workers on the Royal Palm Hotel, took place on that field of play. The steamfitters emerged victorious. No score was given in the Metropolis’ account of the game, even though the official score keeper was affable Miami Mayor John B. Reilly. As is usual, the umpire caught a lot of criticism, especially among women spectators, for his controversial calls.
Miami’s black community, consigned since incorporation to a quarter called Colored Town in the city’s northwest sector in accordance with the strictures of Jim Crow or racial segregation, enjoyed a late August rendition of music rendered by a visiting band from West Palm Beach.
At the same time, on the other side of the infant city, Mary Brickell, who presided over the family’s real estate empire on the south bank of the Miami River and beyond, was busy preparing a basket of “fine” guavas, plentiful in the Miami of yesteryear, for the editor of the Miami Metropolis. The fruits arrived at the newspaper’s office on Avenue D, today’s S. Miami Avenue, with an attached card bearing the message, “Compliments of Mary Brickell.”
In the next installment of this column, we will continue our exploration of Miami in the period immediately following the birth of the Magic City.
Paul S. George, Ph.D., serves as Resident Historian, HistoryMiami Museum. He conducts history tours throughout the county and even beyond for HistoryMiami. Additionally, he teaches classes in Miami/S. Florida and Florida history for the Museum. Dr. George has also led, since 2002, tours of Little Havana as part of Viernes Culturales, a monthly celebration, held every third Friday, of the culture and history of that quarter. The tours are open to all and are free!
