Tag: Written

April is National Poetry Month. In South Florida, that means the month-long annual O, Miami Poetry Festival. As part of the 2016 festival, students from all over took part in programs that encouraged them to write and share their own poetry. These Miami Stories feature poems from some of those students. The poems are based on their lives in Miami-Dade County.

 

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PUT THE GUNS DOWN! THIS NEED TO STOP!

I pray for the children who woke up this morning and lost their life to gun violence
As soon as a tragedy happens the person you call is God
Now people obeying’
They praying’
I’m sayin’.
It’s odd.
Look at the world now
How you going to say it now?
We out here
Just living life
Music is life now
What are we doing for the life of people that’s gone now?
They never coming back
Music is our life now.
My loved ones lost are in the sky with God
Angels with wings on their back
Living a new life
This is why music is life
You got the trap boys living the life
This is a cold world
Music is life
It’s our life now
Too many boys out here
Living this life
Losing their life
We’ve got to come together as one
And make it for our love ones
They are gone and never coming back
Now I’m rapping for y’all and writing these poems
Because I believe in y’all
Music is my limit, while for y’all the sky’s the limit

— Kayla Ingraham, 15, eighth grader at North Dade Middle School

 

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Maybe

I wish I could change my name
Or the frame on the picture that everyone is looking at
From the outside in
They swear they lookin’ deep with
And all they could see is my skin
Maybe I’d change it to something pretty “Lisa” or “Mary”
And then people would approach me and then
Maybe then I wouldn’t look so scary
I could get out my story
Then I wouldn’t have to worry
If I would have to eat alone
Maybe I’d change it to something brave like “Johann” or “Melissa”
Maybe the I could’ve scared away the monsters under my bed
Then they wouldn’t have crawled inside of my head
Or maybe change the frame
I’d put sparkles so you’d think I was pretty
Sign it with X’s and O’s so you’d think I was nice
So tell me when you look at me what do you see?

— Yazzmine (YazzTheGreatest) Brown-Livingston, 14, eighth grader at North Dade Middle School

 

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DREAMS ARE ILLEGAL IN THE GHETTO

DREAMS ARE ILLEGAL IN THE GHETTO
YOUNG KIDS CAN DREAM BIG BUT
THEY ARE INFLUENCED BY DRUGS GUNS
AND VIOLENCE.
PEER PRESSURE
AND THE DEVIL IS THE MAIN FACTOR.
SCREAM LOUD LET EM KNOW
HIT EM WITH THE FOLKS!
SPIN AROUND!
CLAP TWICE!
DREAMS ARE NOT ILLEGAL IN THE GHETTO! CRIPS
BLOODS, GANGS, GANGBANGERS, IS ALL I KNOW BUT
I DO BELIEVE IN GOD AND THE DEVIL CAN’T BRING
ME DOWN.
I WILL DREAM AND I WILL DREAM BIG.
I WILL SUCCEED I WILL NOT FAIL BECAUSE DREAMS
ARE NOT ILLEGAL IN THE GHETTO.

— Da’Juan Bethel, 14, eighth grader at North Dade Middle School

 

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Where I Am From

I am from Miami where the waves go swish,
and people chat, and the highway
sounds like an elephant stampede.
I live in an orange building
that has four stairways and 18 apartments.
My street is near the school (only 3 blocks away),
and a corner store
where I shop for food for the next day.
I am also from Haiti where the people party all night
and use a pool to celebrate birthdays.
And the food tastes like spaghetti with meatballs.
I lived with my grandma and inside it is freezing,
more freezing that the arctic pole.
And my grandma’s cooking smells better
than hamburgers and vanilla ice cream cake.

— Dieneka, fourth grader at Orchard Villa Elementary School

 

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This Is My Home Town

I am from Liberty City
where sometimes the temperature is just right.
I am from a place where the balls
dribble, dribble, dribble all day.
I am not from a place like yours.
I live in a dangerous place.
I am not from a place with bad people.
I hear police sirens screeching.
We also have many parks with red slides
and hurricanes with strong winds.
I am from a place where flowers like to bloom.
and the sky is blue like God loves you.

— Francklin, fourth grader at Orchard Villa Elementary School

 

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What Miami is Like

I am from Miami
where the rain pops

— Jaykayla, third grader at Orchard Villa Elementary School

 

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Ode to the Beach

Yellow sand, blue waves.
The water is so wavy, so wavy
it looks like the spikes of a boy’s Mohawk.
It feels like I am taking a vacation.
It feels like peace and quiet and making
a sand castle with my mom.

— Mia, Culter Ridge Middle School

 

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Odes to the Ocean

Flying up to the sun, falling through
the air like leaves falling from the tree branches,
rain jumps off of the umbrellas onto the ground
cold as the frozen pole, warm as water sweat
as the body movement moves from the pores
running through pipes out from sinks,
sipping water from the water bottle, tastes
like it’s healthy for the body, this is the life of the ocean.

— Tony, Cutler Ridge Middle School

 

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It’s softy wave, calm
is blue.
I get in the ocean
and feel like I’m going
into the world of donuts.
It has fish made of donuts
and shark friends.

— Justin, Cutler Ridge Middle School

 

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“I am warm, wide, I need someone to jump in.”
I jump in.
I see urchins and starfish.
I taste salt.

— Zamare, Cutler Ridge Middle School

Vivid memories of Miami in early 60s

I arrived in Miami with my mother on Friday, July 7, 1961 a little before 7 p.m. I consider myself Miamian, Dade-ian, South Floridian, Southeastern, all of those demonyms.

Bus fare was 20 cents. Newspapers were on wire racks at sidewalk curbs on the honor system with a cigar box or a tin can. The main post office at Northeast First Avenue and Third Street was open until midnight. Domestic postage was 5 cents an ounce and national air mail, 8 cents.

The closest supermarket was a Kwik Chek. Supermarkets gave trading stamps, Kwik-Chek gave yellow Top-Value. I got many gifts with them at Northwest 27th Avenue, including china, luggage and a Bible. Publix didn’t open on Sundays.

Service stations sold Dade and Puritan milk at 98 cents a gallon. “Home” milk, on Northwest Seventh Avenue, had a carton spinning in front and it advertised, “If it were any fresher, it’d moo.” The Walgreens drug store on East Flagler Street and Second Avenue served food on four floors.

Some self-serve cafeterias were Tyler’s and Polly Davis. At the White Castle on Southwest 27th Avenue and Flagler Street, a square hamburger was 14 cents, root beer 9 cents. Richards Department Store on Northeast First Street and First Avenue had six floors, a bargain basement and a coffee shop with green ivy and trellis pattern wall paper. I worked part-time at their jewelry counter in the 1963 Christmas season. The wages were $1.15 an hour.

Homes didn’t have air conditioning. Roberts’ Drug Store on West Flagler Street and Sixth Avenue was open all night and it had a television set in a wooden box in the parking lot across the street with benches for the viewers. Television was black and white, and there were five channels, 4 CBS, 7 NBC, 10 ABC, 2 WPBS and 6 Independent.

My favorite radio station was WIOD 610; others were WGBS, WINZ, WQAM. The main library was in Bayfront Park on Biscayne Boulevard and Flagler Street, and it had an open Bible in a glass case under a banyan tree in front. Vendors sold bags of peanuts to the people to feed the pigeons in the park.

I learned how to drive on the parking lot of the Orange Bowl. Drivers’ licenses were issued by the Florida Highway Patrol, on West Flagler Street at 26th Avenue, and they were pink, typed, and didn’t bear a photograph. I bought my first car, a used cream-colored 1961 Falcon with 5,000 miles, at the Joseph Abraham Ford dealer on Southwest Eighth Street and 27th Avenue.

Gas was around 32 cents a gallon, and the oil companies were American, Standard Oil, Texaco, Atlantic, Gulf, Pure, Shell, Sinclair, Sunoco, Cities Service, Hess, Phillips 66, Union 76. Most gave street maps of Miami and road maps of Florida. The parking meters took nickels. The overtime parking fine was $1.

The telephone company had an office on Northeast Second Street and Miami Avenue where you could consult out-of-town telephone books and place long-distance calls. There were seven movie theaters on Flagler Street, Town, Paramount, Florida, Olympia, Miami, Flagler. In Coral Gables were the Miracle, the Gables, the Coral and Riviera. Federal savings & loan associations gave 5.25 percent interest on their savings accounts and stayed open until 3 p.m., state commercial banks gave 5 percent and were open until 2 p.m.

In the summer, two girl friends and I spent every Saturday and every Sunday at Indian Beach Park on 46th Street. In the evening, we went to the amphitheater in Pier Park on Ocean Drive by Pier 1 to dance. We went to dances at the Police Benevolent Association, the Hungarian-American Club, the Polish-American Club.

There were no shopping malls. There were three arcades downtown on East Flagler Street. There were juice stands. The nearest shopping center was Central Shopping Plaza at Northwest Seventh Street and 37th Avenue.

The population of Dade County, according to the 1960 census, was 935,047.

There were two bus stations, Greyhound on Northeast First Street and Third Avenue, and Trailways across the avenue. There were three railroad stations, Atlantic on Southeast First Street and Second Avenue, Florida on Southwest First Avenue and Third Street and Seaboard on Northwest Seventh Avenue and 22nd Street. Northwest 36th Street was lined with car dealers.

On Fifth Street in Miami Beach, there were many car agencies that would give cars to people to drive up north for, and deliver to its owner, and in one direction, going up in summer or coming down in winter. They provided a tankful of gas. Little booths on Bayfront Park sold boat rides on the bay.

Postal zones had two digits. Is there anyone left who remembers the old telephone exchanges? I remember CEdar, EMerson, FRanklin, JEfferson, MOhawk, MUrray, NAtional, NEwtown, OXford, PLaza, TUxedo, UNion and WIlson.

I got married at Sts. Peter & Paul Catholic Church on Southwest 26th Road. My son was born at Mercy Hospital on South Miami Avenue.

I got an associate in arts degree in business administration at Miami-Dade Community College New World Center, and worked as a corporate banking assistant at Southeast Bank in Miami Springs.

In November 1967, after my girlfriend and I became registered nurses, we moved from Wisconsin to Miami Beach. This was a goal we had dreamed of since high school.

We lived at the Castaways Motel in Sunny Isles Beach until we secured our first jobs at Miami Beach’s Mt. Sinai Hospital. After saving our money for several months, we moved to Miami Springs. It was a party, day and night, with all the flight attendants and pilots staying there. Our favorite club was 6 West. It was our hangout to dance and have a good time. We could be found listening to the talented Rhodes Brothers there every Sunday afternoon.

I left Mt. Sinai in 1969 and did private duty nursing that summer. I was dating an executive with A&M; Records. He invited me to a concert in Woodstock, N.Y. but I was unable to go because I was about to start my new job the following Monday in the Emergency Department at Jackson Memorial Hospital. Woodstock, who knew?

While working in the E.D., I was privileged to meet and work with Dr. James Jude. Dr. Jude was a thoracic surgeon who helped develop the use of CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) lifesaving technique. Working with Dr. Jude, I taught CPR classes to my co-workers as well as the Miami-Dade and City of Miami paramedics. I also set up the first “crash cart” in the E.D., which we used for patients in cardiac arrest.

There were times we literally had to jump up on the stretchers to perform CPR and other procedures. A friend of mine and I decided it was not appropriate to wear uniform dresses in situations like those so we decided to wear white uniform pants and pastel uniform tops to work.

We were the first at Jackson to do so. We had nurses coming from every department to see us. The word had spread quickly that dresses were out and pants were in. The majority of nurses now wear uniform pants.

Part of the E.D. consisted of Ward D, or Detention Ward. Essentially, it was the prison ward of the hospital. Anyone who was sick or injured and under arrest was sent to Ward D. We treated murderers, rapists, and even lawyers or doctors on occasion. We were also responsible for treating “Drug Mules,” those who swallowed or inserted packets of heroin or cocaine to avoid arrest.

Sadly, we witnessed several of them die due to the drug packets breaking open in their abdomens. I worked primarily in Ward D from 1972 until I retired in 2000. Jackson Memorial Hospital was a wonderful place to work. I learned so much and had an incredible career as a registered nurse.

Coconut Grove was a haven for artists, musicians, and the “flower child” generation. I moved there in 1969, finding a cadre of friends who would come together in Peacock Park to play our guitars and make delicious vegetarian meals for everyone. The tallest buildings in the Grove at that time were the Coconut Grove Bank and the Mutiny on Sailboat Bay.

It was such a quiet and peaceful time in the Grove. We had plenty of places to congregate. Dick’s Old Grove Pub was one of those places. They had the best cheeseburgers in the greater Miami area. One Sunday, the Jefferson Airplane rock group came in and played all afternoon. We would catch breakfast at the Florida Pharmacy, lunches and dinners at the Feed Bag, the Village Inn, The Taurus, 27 Birds, Lum’s and many more.

On any given day, one could see great musicians walking or biking through the Grove: Vince Martin, Bobby Ingram, John Sebastian, Neil Young, David Crosby, Jimmy Buffet and so many others.

We didn’t restrict ourselves to eating and playing in the Grove, though. Some terrific restaurants in Coral Gables and South Miami included Fox’s Sherron Inn, Jahn’s Ice Cream Parlor, the Sweden House, Sambo’s, the Glorified Delicatessen, Uncle Tom’s BBQ, Food Among the Flowers, The Monk’s Inn and Vinton’s.

Riding my bicycle through Coconut Grove one day, I met my future husband Bruce Liptak. He and a friend had just opened Om Jewelry and Leather. We married in 1972 but Bruce passed away seven years later at the age of 36 from a cerebral aneurysm.

Friends and family were very instrumental in helping me through that horrific time. In 1982, I had a dinner party and some friends brought over John Blocker. We married in 1995. He has a daughter, Vergene, who was 4 years old when I met John. I helped raise her and consider her my very own daughter. She is now 38 years old.

After retiring from JMH in 2000, we moved from Coconut Grove to Sunny Isles Beach. I wanted to remain active in my profession so I returned to Jackson and worked part-time for another six years. My husband, a cardiopulmonary technologist, still works at Jackson.

I no longer work but I am a tireless volunteer. I take classes and am on the board of our condo association. In a fitting tribute, the building in which we live in stands where the Castaways once stood. It’s a lovely reminder that I’ve come full circle in this city.

I left Mt. Sinai in 1969 and did private duty nursing that summer. I was dating an executive with A&M; Records; he invited me to a concert in Woodstock, N.Y. but because I was about to start my new job the following Monday in the Emergency Department at Jackson Memorial Hospital, I was unable to go. Woodstock; who knew.

While working in the E.D. I was privileged to meet and work with Dr. James Jude. Dr. Jude was a thoracic surgeon who helped develop CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation). Working with Dr. Jude, I taught CPR classes to my co-workers as well as the Miami-Dade and city of Miami paramedics. I also set up the first ” crash cart “in the E.D. which we used for patients in cardiac arrest.

There were times we literally had to jump up on the stretchers to perform CPR and other procedures. A friend of mine and I decided it was not appropriate to wear uniform dresses in situations like those so we decided to wear white uniform pants and pastel uniform tops to work. We were the first at Jackson to do so and had nurses coming from every department to see us. The word had spread quickly that dresses were out and pants were in. Since that day the majority of nurses wear uniform pants.

Part of the E.D. consisted of Ward D, or Detention Ward. Essentially, it was the prison ward of the hospital; anyone who was sick or injured and under arrest was sent to Ward D. We treated murderers, rapists,, even lawyers and doctors on occasion. We were also responsible for treating ” Drug Mules,” those who swallowed or inserted packets of heroin or cocaine to avoid arrest. Sadly, we witnessed several of them die due to the drug packets breaking open in their abdomens. I worked primarily in Ward D from 1972 until I retired in 2000. Jackson Memorial Hospital was a wonderful place to work. I learned so much and had an incredible career as a registered nurse.

Coconut Grove was a haven for artists, musicians, and the “flower child” generation. I moved there in 1969, finding a cadre of friends who would come together in Peacock Park to play our guitars and make delicious vegetarian meals for everyone.

The tallest buildings in the Grove at that time were the Coconut Grove Bank and the Mutiny on Sailboat Bay. It was such a quiet and peaceful time in the Grove. We had plenty of places to congregate. Dick’s Old Grove Pub was one of those places, having the best cheeseburgers in the greater Miami area. One Sunday afternoon, the Jefferson Airplane rock group came in and played all afternoon.

We would catch breakfast at the Florida Pharmacy, lunches and dinners at the Feed Bag, the Village Inn, The Taurus, 27 Birds, Lum’s and many more. On any given day one could see great musicians walking or biking through the Grove: Vince Martin, Bobby Ingram, John Sebastian, Neil Young, David Crosby, Jimmy Buffet, and so many others.
We didn’t restrict ourselves to eating and playing in the Grove, though. Some terrific restaurants in Coral Gables and South Miami included Foxx’s Sherron Inn, Jahn’s Ice Cream Parlor, the Sweden House, Sambo’s, the Glorified Delicatessen, Uncle Tom’s BBQ, Food Among the Flowers, the Monk’s Inn, and Vinton’s.

Riding my bicycle through Coconut Grove one day, I met my future husband Bruce Liptak. He and a friend had just opened Om Jewelry and Leather. We married in 1972 but Bruce passed away seven years later at a the age of 36 from a cerebral aneurysm. Friends and family were very instrumental in helping me through that horrific time. In 1982, I had a dinner party; friends brought over John Blocker. We married in 1995. He has a daughter, Vergene, who was four years old when I met John. I helped raise her and consider her my very own daughter. She is now 38 years old.

After retiring from JMH in 2000, we moved from Coconut Grove to Sunny Isles Beach.I wanted to remain active in my profession so I returned to Jackson and worked part-time for another six years. My husband, a cardiopulmonary technologist, still works at Jackson.

I no longer work but I am a tireless volunteer; I take classes and I’m on the board of our condo association. In a fitting tribute, the building in which we live in stands where the Castaways once stood, a lovely reminder that I’ve come full circle in this city.

Seventeen. That is when I graduated from high school. I had many choices of where I wanted to go to school, but the university I dreamed of going to rejected me. I ended up choosing a school I had never visited and taking a blind leap.

A couple of weeks after I turned 18, I moved down to Miami to attend college. I never had been to Miami before and I was honestly scared to attend the only university I did not tour on my application list. I have family in the area and I knew that even though my immediate family was just four hours away I could take a 20-minute drive to see my cousins.

I remember the day before I was going to move into my dorm, I stayed up all night in my cousins’ house watching TV and honestly scared out of my mind. I tried to play off the fact that I was scared to move to a place I had never been before and afraid I would not like the university I chose to attend. I wanted my father to see my strength in leaving instead of my fear that first year here.

Now, I’m about to graduate and time never seemed to have passed so fast. My challenges now seem like moments I cherish and take with me as a lesson learned. I do not know what scares me more about finally graduating: the memory of the two beloved men in my life or me actually moving on to accomplish my life goals.

I started my freshman year with my whole family moving me into a dorm with my best friend from high school, and then my father went clubbing with his cousins. I honestly thought my father enjoyed coming to visit so he could party, and he always enjoyed dragging one of my sisters along for the drive. He occasionally came down with my middle sister, but as time went by we visited each other less often. The reason for the broken connection was my boyfriend at the time; he was very close to my father and tended to not like my ways.

My first semester was a success, and I came home for winter break to my loving family and boyfriend with A’s and B’s. Time seemed like it did not change in four months, and each moment I spent at home reminded me why I love my family and why I also went to college four hours away.

The start of my second semester seemed as easy as the first one; I figured college wasn’t so bad. Mid-semester I got eight calls from my boyfriend who eventually reached me to tell me my father had died from a blood clot. At first I thought it was a bad joke. No, it was a harsh reality that I was not ready to face.
I went home that week to find out my father had put me as head of household. I was 18 with responsibilities I thought I would not have to deal with until I was in my twenties. I had to take care of my mother, who was blind, and figure out how to put two sisters through college, along with myself. My family lost our houseman that year as well, and I tried my best, with the help of my mother’s best friend, to manage the family.

Even though everyone tells me I did a great job, I felt I did not do the best I could have because I stayed in college instead of moving closer to my mother. My mother’s best friend did everything possible to make sure her needs were met. I called my mother every night for a year and half to read her stories. She did not remember the four months after my father died.

My sisters spent most of the college fund and ended up doing their own things. My older brother tried to help my youngest sister but she became trouble to him. After two years of being in charge and feeling drained by my family, I gave the guardianship to my middle sister. I wanted to forgive my family for the hurt, and even today I have a hard time with it.

I am now 21 and lost my mother’s best friend three years to the day after I lost my father. He had been a father figure to me and I felt devastated to lose him. He was the man who watched over me after my father passed and made sure I was always okay.

Now, I am getting ready to graduate and all I see is their memory as I am about to walk across that stage, wishing they were here to watch that moment. I cannot help but think Miami will always be a part of me, just like all the great people in my life.

I was born in 1939 in Winston-Salem, N.C. I’m the last of eight children. I was born to John Fair and Mary Lou Fair.

People ask me about the name “Talmadge,” which is an unusual name for me to have. The day I was born, I came home and the insurance broker came by and inquired as to whether or not my mother had named me. She said no. He said, “Why don’t you name him Talmadge?’’

The irony is that Herman Eugene Talmadge, Sr., was a segregationist. [Talmadge, a U.S. senator from Georgia from 1957 to 1981, was one of several Southern senators who boycotted the Democratic National Convention of 1964 after President Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act of 1964 into law.]

I finished high school in 1957. I went off to Johnson C. Smith University in Charlotte, N.C. The most exciting part about being there was this was when the Civil Rights revolution was beginning. I couldn’t wait to get out of class to go downtown Charlotte and protest.

I went to graduate school in Atlanta. Atlanta was the bedrock of black intellectual society. With all those colleges and students there, we demonstrated every day. When I finished graduate school, I had a master’s degree in social work.

I was 24. My notion was that I would volunteer for the Army, but they wouldn’t take me because of an injury. So now it’s 1963, I’m home and have no job. I went up to the Winston-Salem Urban League and told them I was looking for a job.

The head of the Winston-Salem League asked me to work for the Urban League, which was founded in 1910 to improve the lives of black Americans. He found an opening in Miami. Around August 1963, I took my first plane ride to Miami for an interview.

I don’t know whether or not they intended to hire me, but I intended to be hired. I convinced them that I was like Jesus, that I could walk on water. Even though I had no experience, I had commitment and dedication. Long story short, I got the job.

The director of the Urban Renewal Program was looking for a deputy director, and they wanted the deputy director to be a person of color because the greatest impact of the Urban Renewal Program and I-95 would be on black people who lived in Overtown.

James Whitehead, then CEO of the Miami Urban League, got the job and left. They were getting ready to start a search for a new CEO when the board heard that Whitney Young Jr., the executive director of the National Urban League, was planning on filling the vacancy in Miami with one of his friends.

As a result, the board became upset. Before they let someone else pick the new CEO, they were willing to give it to a young, inexperienced man.

They said, “You want this job?’’ I said, “If you all want me to have it, I’ll take it.’’

I became the youngest president and CEO in the history of the Urban League movement at age 24. I didn’t know anything about running anything. I knew everything about being aggressive about the things that I believed in.

Our role was to begin to do the things to make life better for black people in spite of the circumstances. In 1963, we started with a staff of three people. In less than a decade, we became the largest Urban League affiliate in the history of the movement in terms of employees. We had 476 full-time employees, plus 25 part-timers and four consultants.

The Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. had a formula. In whatever city he’d visit, he’d identify the top black lawyer, the top black preacher and the top black activist in that city. When he came to have his first meeting in Miami at Mount Sinai Baptist Church, I was chosen as the activist. I got a chance to meet Martin and I’ll never forget it.

I was the Muhammad Ali of black Dade County and I was talking the talk. I was talking back to white folk, sassing white folk. I couldn’t wait to get to the conference in Louisville, Ky., just step out and say, “Yeah, I’m here! Ol’ bad T. Willard.’’

While I was writing my decade of progress report, it said the Urban League of Greater Miami was doing great but its constituency was not. I realized then that we’re not here to do great for ourselves. We’re here for the people who we’re supposed to serve.

We came up with a leadership Miami component. We began to look at identifying persons to place them on boards. We identified more than 400 young black people. They came through our leadership training classes and we placed them throughout this community. We integrated every workforce in Dade County.

If you were black, you could not work east of Biscayne Boulevard. That was the unwritten code. We changed that. We ran the open occupancy law. We drafted that law and got it passed.

The next step was clearly a step that my parents understood, education. I know today that the only thing that is broken in my community is the will to achieve.

We decided to make the league self-sufficient. Now we can say what we want to say, do what we want do, be who we want to be without the support of other folks. We’re the largest developer of housing in Liberty City, second only to the city of Miami.

We have the freedom to be as aggressive as we want to be in helping change the system. Martin said, ‘Free at last, free at last.’

Well, we’re free, we’re free.

This story was compiled by HistoryMiami intern Lisann Ramos, as recounted by T. Willard Fair

In 1937, when I was nine months old, my parents, Thomas J. Lee Smith and Lila Smith moved from Tampa to Homestead, Florida so my Dad could pursue a sales position with Kilgore Seed Company.

My dad was orphaned at a young age, so settling into an old wood-framed house in a small farming neighborhood seemed like a perfect setting—family, community, and for Mother, church down the road.

Growing up in Homestead, where everyone knew your name and who your parents were, placed an indelible mark on my perspective of life. Deals could be made with a handshake. Your word was your bond. Trust, loyalty and commitment were a part of your core values and beliefs and each of those were equally embraced and sustained.

In 1943, my world of innocence was turned upside down. World War II had reared its ugly head all the way to Homestead, Florida. Dad was drafted into the Army and shipped off to the Philippines. I was seven years old, and Mother was left to raise me and somehow find a way to keep our family intact and financially secure.

Mother got a job in my school as an assistant to the principal of Neva King Cooper Elementary. We walked together to school every day, waiting for Dad’s return so we could once again return to life as it used to be, but it would take three more years before everything returned to normal.

Dad was back home, unscathed by the war, and working once again at Kilgore selling to vegetable farmers.

As the years passed, Homestead started rising above its small town standing with increased construction of strip malls, restaurants and paved roads.

The Homestead Air Force Reserve Base brought in a military population and there was enough of a surge in residents that old Homestead High and Redland High were merged into the brand-new South Dade High School. My parents bought a house behind the First Presbyterian Church—where I sang first bass in the church choir—and I was part of South Dade’s first graduating class.

In the 1950s, my Dad borrowed money from a friend and founded S & M Farm Supply, Inc., with his partner, A. McIntyre. They rented a wooden building for tomato packing on the southwest corner of U.S. 1 and S. W. 248 Street and next to the F.E.C. Railroad tracks. Not long after that they had a concrete-block warehouse and sales store erected right across from the Homestead Electric Power Plant.

After graduating from the University of Florida with a Bachelor of Science degree in Agriculture, I joined my Dad at S & M. Years later we acquired Woodbury Chemical Company of Homestead, and both corporations were the local base for the agricultural, pesticide, and fertilizer industries in South Florida.

It’s been a long time since Woodbury was sold and S & M closed its doors. My parents have been gone for years. Homestead is different not only because of time and growth, but also from the tragic destruction of Hurricane Andrew.

Our old house is now bank offices and the church is no longer on the corner. I’m quite sure business contracts have replaced the handshake and the farming industry has waned. But I know that one thing still remains the same: I can stop by a roadside stand, pick some strawberries, close my eyes, and remember what it was like when everyone knew my name.

I am the youngest of the Wood brothers — Hayes, David, Hugh “Hooty” and Tom — all born between 1926 and 1931. We were very close and shared many things together in Old Miami. We all were born at Victoria Hospital on Northwest 10th Avenue, which still exists as a nursing and rehab center.

We were raised on a truck farm on Southwest 19th Street, about five acres that is now part of Shenandoah Park and middle school. We were always playing ball in the park. The park had many famous supervisors who went on to play pro ball, including Al Rosen with the Cleveland Indians and Lefty Schemer with the New York Giants. My only buddies still around are Lester Johnson, Fred Kirkland and Ed Woitke.

We attended and were baptized at the Riverside Baptist Church on Southwest Ninth Avenue and First Street (the congregation moved to Kendall in the 1970s and the church sanctuary now houses the Manuel Artime Theater).

As kids, we worked with the farm’s chickens and vegetables and created Wood Brothers Poultry and Produce Co. We sold the products to Wrights Market on Southwest Eighth Street and 22nd Avenue. My brothers and I all attended Shenandoah Elementary and Junior High schools. I also went to Coral Way Elementary when it opened in 1937 on Southwest 19th Street and 13th Avenue. We all went to Ponce de Leon Senior High School on U.S. 1 in Coral Gables. My brothers Hayes and Hugh and I were president of the student council. I met my beautiful wife, Virginia, in high school in 1949 and in June we will have been married 60 years. Ponce is now a middle school and the high school is now Coral Gables Senior High on Bird Road.

My brothers and I founded a band and played at high school dances, New Year’s Eve parties and other events. Hayes played saxophone; David and I, trumpet; and Hugh was on the trombone.

Someone gave my brother Hooty an Indian Pinto horse. He would hop on bareback and pull me up behind him and we would ride all the way down 22nd Avenue to the bay, where we would swim in cold, ice-blue water so clear we could see the bottom and the fish clearly.

We watched the roller derby at the Coliseum on Douglas Road. It is now a Publix and eight-story condominium. John Rosasco was the star of the team. He later ran Venetian Pool in Coral Gables, where everyone loved to hide in the caves. Fader’s Drug Store on 22nd Avenue and Coral Way was a popular spot for milkshakes and root beer floats. I remember watching Pan Am Clippers on the bay in the Grove on the site of what is now Miami City Hall.

It was only a bike ride to the Tower Theater on the Trail and for nine cents I could see two double features, a cartoon and a live amateur show. We could hop the Dunn bus at the corner and go downtown to various theaters — the Rex, Town or Paramount — and have a grilled-cheese sandwich at the counter of the Red Cross Drug Store, or a hotdog at Woolworth’s for a dime.

There were many favorite eating spots: Rosedale Delicatessen, owned by the Pont brothers (I would have corned beef on rye with a slice of onion and mustard, a big kosher dill and some potato salad); Kitty and Jean’s on the Trail; hotdogs at the Pig Trail Inn on Miami Beach. Who remembers the Mayflower Doughnut Shop on Biscayne Boulevard sporting a sign that read, “As you wander through life in search of your goal, keep your eye upon the doughnut and not upon the hole.”

Sometimes all four of us would take a long bike ride to the deserted University of Miami skeleton campus, where we would swim in the lagoon. Today, UM is one of the finest private universities in the country. I am honored to serve as a member of the Board of Trustees. All four of us worked our way through UM. Three of us graduated with juris doctor degrees and one with a master of engineering.

All of us served in the armed forces: three Naval officers and one Army Air Corps technician.

One of my favorite memories was riding on the handlebars of my oldest brother’s bicycle on a Saturday morning as we and my other brothers went to the Ringling Brothers Circus in the vacant lot on the northeast corner of Coral Way and Douglas Road. There, we watered the elephants until the matinee started. We got free admission plus money we spent on hotdogs.

My brothers always looked out for me and I will never forget them as I am blessed to still live in Miami, the Magic City.