I won’t hesitate to admit I had a very restless and uncomfortable night at the Holiday Inn Express in St. Augustine, Florida, even though I ain’t ‘fraid of no ghosts. The spooky image my photographer’s wife had captured in front of the lighthouse haunted me throughout the entire night. As a matter of fact, it was a relief when Tom’s alarm rang at 5:45am on Monday April 29, 2024 and he got out of bed.
When Tom and Vic packed-up their stuff and we headed out to the Jeep at a little past seven o’clock, I figured we were finished with that haunted old town where parking was scarier than its ghosts. But as we headed west over the Bridge of Lions and into town, I realized my photographer had more up his sleeve than an EMF meter. It turned out our early departure was Tom’s idea and meant to beat the tourist traffic so his wife would have a fighting chance find parking close to the three Presidential sites left on our agenda. Each of those sites were bypassed the previous afternoon due to the lack of inexpensive parking anywhere in town.
A few minutes after Vicki drove over the Matanzas River, she found street parking alongside the oldest public space in America, which dated back to 1573. Since the inception of the Plaza de la Constitucion by the Spanish Royal Ordinances, the space in the heart of St. Augustine has been, and still is, a social gathering place and a venue for special events.
One such event came on February 23, 1888 when President Grover Cleveland visited St. Augustine with his new bride and First Lady, Frances Folsom Cleveland. After attending a reception at the Ponce de Leon Hotel arranged by the hotel’s owner Henry Flagler, the President and his wife were taken by carriage to the historic Plaza de la Constitucion where they visited the Confederate Monument and the Spanish Constitution Monument.
Tom carried me from the Jeep and into the historic park now filled with numerous monuments and memorials. Vicki insisted on staying back with our vehicle to avoid paying to park. After the two of us followed in the footsteps of President Cleveland, I posed near the Spanish Constitution Monument, which was an eighteen-foot-tall obelisk erected in 1813 in celebration of the newly formed government in Spain. But the second monument seen by Cleveland during his 1888 visit was missing. It turned out the Confederate Monument, which honored the local soldiers who died defending the Confederacy during the Civil War, had been removed from the Plaza de la Constitucion on September 9, 2020 and transplanted in another park 18 miles away after city officials cowered to the now out of control woke movement.
While my photographer and I saw only one of the two monuments that were visited by Grover Cleveland in 1888, I heard Tom tell his wife when we returned to the Jeep that he planned on tracking down the Confederate Monument before we left the St. Augustine area. My camera guy said his reasoning wasn’t because he wanted to honor the Confederacy; in fact, he doesn’t like what they stood for during the Civil War. However, that monument wasn’t one which honored one of the Confederate leaders such as Robert E. Lee or Jefferson Davis, but was a simple obelisk dedicated to the local men who lost their lives defending their homeland – and that was okay in his book. Since it had a Presidential connection, Tom was hellbent on us seeing that monument after we visited the rest of the sites in downtown St. Augustine.
Our next stop was located about two blocks west, but my photographer didn’t realize how close the Ponce de Leon Hotel was until after Vicki left our sparking spot. And wouldn’t you know it, when we got to the front of the former hotel, which was now part of Flagler College, there was no legal, inexpensive parking available. My photographer’s wife pulled into a lot which charged fifteen bucks to park for the day, but she stayed with the Jeep and didn’t pay a dime. Just as Tom and I were about to set out on foot to see the hotel, I heard his wife say, “This city is just as bad as Key West when it comes to parking a vehicle. I’m staying here, but please make it snappy.”
Although Tom had every intention of taking a couple of photos of the hotel’s exterior and returning to the Jeep, that plan went by the wayside once he saw how impressive the historic building actually was. When the massive luxury hotel opened in January 1888, it was one of the first buildings in the country wired for electricity from the onset, which was thanks to Henry Flagler’s friend, Thomas Edison, who supplied the DC generators. Flagler’s goal was to have a huge luxury hotel to attract wealthy northerners to the area – and if you build it, they will come. A month after the place had opened for business, President Grover Cleveland stayed at the hotel during his visit to St. Augustine. In its first five years, the Ponce de Leon Hotel was considered the most exclusive winter palace resort in the United States.
On the night of October 21, 1905, President Theodore Roosevelt, who was a good friend of Flagler, spent the night at The Ponce in the owner’s private suite which overlooked the courtyard. During his visit to St. Augustine, Roosevelt was heavily guarded due to the threat of assassination and spent most of his time at the hotel. TR did travel from The Ponce for an evening speech he delivered at Castillo de San Marcos and he also attended church service the following morning at the Memorial Presbyterian Church.
The third Presidential visit to the Ponce de Leon Hotel came in February 1921 shortly before President-elect Warren G. Harding took office. As a matter of fact, Harding selected his Cabinet while staying at the historic venue. During his vacation to St. Augustine in 1921, Harding was also honored at Castillo de San Marcos. A couple of years later, on March 25, 1923, Harding and his wife Florence returned to The Ponce where they stayed one night. A little over four months after President Harding’s last visit to St. Augustine, he died at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco.
While three sitting Presidents had visited The Ponce since it opened in 1888, FDR and JFK both stayed at the historic hotel during their youth, while Vice President Lyndon Johnson spent time there in March 1963. Four years later, due to the declining number of visitors and guests, The Ponce closed its doors for good. In 1968, the hotel because the centerpiece of the newly established Flagler College, which is what it’s used for today.
During our visit to The Ponce, Tom carried me into the courtyard where I posed for a myriad of photos. I loved the fountain and posed alongside one of the dozen water-spitting terracotta frogs. But during my time in front of the majestic hotel, my focus was on the many historic guests who stayed in the building behind me. As a matter of fact, it was as though I could see Cleveland, and Roosevelt, and Harding as they walked through that same courtyard.
My visit with Tom in the courtyard of The Ponce lasted about 15 minutes, although I would’ve given my right arm to have been taken inside the lavish building. Had it not been for Vicki waiting for us in the Jeep that was parked illegally, I’m sure my photographer would’ve taken me into the 14,212 square-foot dining room with its 48-foot-tall domed ceiling. As my photographer carried me out of the courtyard and back towards King Street, I knew I was following the same path used by President Theodore Roosevelt when he let the hotel and headed to historic Castillo de San Marcos in 1905. And that was exactly where we were headed next as well.
It took Vicki about ten minutes to make the half-mile drive to Castillo de San Marcos, and since we still had a half-hour before the fort officially opened for the day, parking was ample – although it wasn’t free. Once again, the city of St. Augustine had their hand out for anyone needing to park their vehicle, even though the fort was a National Park Service site. My companions paid the minimum $2.50 for an hour, which Tom figured would be plenty of time to visit the old fortress. During the first half of our visit, the three of us walked the entire perimeter around the exterior of the fort; while the second half was dedicated to the fort’s interior once the historic site had opened.
At precisely nine o’clock, and not a second earlier, Tom used his NPS Lifetime Pass to get his wife and me inside the fort, which saved him thirty bucks. Once we walked over the drawbridge and through the same Sally Port used by Ulysses S. Grant, Theodore Roosevelt, and Warren G. Harding during their visits, my photographer carried me to a handful of locations within the oldest masonry fort in the continental United States. And trust me, the place looked like it had been constructed over 80 years before the Declaration of Independence was signed. One thing was for certain, the 14-foot-thick walls gave us a sense of the fort’s strength.
After I was carried along the courtyard where Colonel Roosevelt had camped in 1898 and where President Roosevelt delivered his speech in 1905, Tom and I went up a set of stairs where we walked along the Terreplein. It was there when we caught a glimpse of the spot where President-elect Harding was positioned during his much-celebrated visit in 1921.
While Tom and I were primarily interested in the Presidents and their visits to the fort, a darker and more haunting tale lurked within the confines of Castillo de San Marcos. For you see, there was forbidden love gone awry at the fort in 1763, which featured a love triangle centered on a beautiful young woman named Delores Marti. Although Delores’ husband, Colonel Garcia Marti, was an important figure with great stature at the fort, he became more indulged in his professional life rather than his romantic life.
At the same time, the Colonel’s assistant, a soldier known only as Captain Abela, let the sweet perfume worn by Delores get the best of him. The alluring seduction of the ever-present scent overpowered his will and better judgement, and you can guess what happened next. One evening, Colonel Marti smelled the strong scent of his wife’s perfume on the captain’s clothing, and he became instantly enraged with jealousy.
Several days went by and no one saw Delores or Captain Abela – they had completely disappeared from the fort. The Colonel said his wife was ill and was sent to Mexico to recover, while at the same time, Abela had been sent on a special mission to Cuba – at least that’s what Marti told the rest of the soldiers.
Years later, when Florida became part of the United States and American troops took control of Castillo de San Marcos, a young lieutenant made a startling discovery in the dungeon area. When he discovered a hollow wall, the lieutenant broke down the brick barrier and was overcome with the powerful smell of perfume that instantly filled the air. When he caught his breath and looked into the dark chamber, two human skeletons were inside. While no one knows for sure if those bones belonged to Delores and Abela, the fact visitors and staff still catch an occasional whiff of powerful perfume to this day can be no coincidence.
When my photographer had finished taking his pictures of me inside the fort, he asked one of the NPS rangers where the St. Francis Barracks was located because he hadn’t found it. Tom said he wanted to see the barracks because he knew Ulysses S. Grant and his wife Julia had visited her brother, Bvt. Brigadier General Frederick T. Dent, at the fort on January 15, 1879. While visiting the historic fort, the Grants were accompanied by General Phil Sheridan, who also participated in the reception for the former President and his wife, which was held on the Green. The ranger smiled at Tom and said St. Francis Barracks wasn’t inside the fort at all, but instead was located about a mile south of where we stood.
With the new information from the ranger in hand at roughly 9:30am, the three of us left Delores and Abela behind and headed south past the Bridge of Lions, along the Matanzas River, until we came to St. Francis Street where I saw a large sign stating we were at the headquarters of the Florida National Guard. Across the street from the sign was a very large, two-story beige and white-trimmed building with the words ‘St. Francis Barracks’ emblazoned across the upper story. In my mind, we had travelled the same route used by Ulysses and Julia Grant, along with their travel partner General Phil Sheridan, on January 15, 1879. The barracks were where Julia’s brother, Bvt. Brigadier General Frederick T. Dent was living, and the Grants had come to pay him a visit.
St. Francis Barracks was constructed between 1724 and 1755 by friars of the Order of St. Francis. After the building was controlled by the Spanish and British for a long time, the barracks came under control of the United States Army in 1821 until 1900. Between those years, the only time the U.S. Army didn’t control the barracks was between 1861 and 1862 when it was under control of the Confederate States of America for roughly one year.
With no parking anywhere along the street, Vicki once again resorted to pulling the Jeep off onto the sidewalk while my photographer and I headed on foot towards the historic barracks. I posed for photos at a handful of locations around the exterior of the building, which to me, looked pretty darn spiffy for being nearly 300 years old.
When Tom set me on the beige-colored planter in front of the building, something came over me in an instant. I heard the distant clip-clop of horses, then suddenly a large carriage came into view. When that black carriage stopped directly in front of me, the door opened, and I saw General Grant step out onto the gravel walkway. The hero of the Civil War looked amazing in his blue suit, white shirt and dark blue tie – his dark beard was greying but seemed well trimmed and groomed. Grant held out his right hand, which Julia used to disembark the carriage. Julia was short and stubby, and quite frankly, her crossed eyes put her on the homely side in my book. She reminded me of a stout, pudgy Margaret Hamilton, who played the Wicked Witch of the West in the movie ‘The Wizard of Oz’. The last person to leave the carriage was General Phil Sheridan, who was wearing his United States Army uniform. When all three dignitaries were fully assembled onto the walkway, they were led up three steps and quickly disappeared through the front door.
My photographer plucked me off the planter and carried me back towards the Jeep. Tom had no way of knowing what I had just witnessed, and I was keeping that encounter highly classified.
Vicki fired-up the Jeep’s engine at 9:40am and we departed the sixth most haunted city in the United States. While I ain’t ‘fraid of no ghosts, I am a bit more uneasy with the paranormal and abnormal. While it was great to see all of the Presidential sites in St. Augustine, I was happy to be getting out of dodge. During the drive west, I heard Tom suddenly say, “I just caught a quick whiff of cigar smoke. It must’ve been my imagination.” I smiled and didn’t say a word.
It took only a few minutes, however, before I discovered we were jumping from the frying pan and into the fire when I heard Tom say to his wife, “Well, we’re leaving the sixth most haunted city in America and are headed to the number one most haunted city – Savannah, Georgia. But first, we need to make a quick stop at the Confederate Monument, which is somewhere along the route to Spook Central.”
I couldn’t believe my resin ears. Why in the world would my photographer want to continue to play grab-ass with the spirit world. The three of us had luckily escaped St. Augustine without any harmful effects, although we did have photographic “evidence” of a ghostly close encounter at the lighthouse. But now we were headed into the lion’s mouth of paranormal activity, and our only saving grace was the fact we were visiting Savannah in broad daylight.
Roughly forty-five minutes after Vicki pulled away from her sidewalk parking spot near the St. Francis Barracks, we arrived at an out-of-the-way park known as the Trout Creek Memorial Park and Marina. And when I say “out-of-the-way”, the large park was located just over 18 miles northwest of downtown St. Augustine and was near the eastern shore of the St. Johns River.
The first thing I noticed when my photographer’s wife drove into the park, we were the only ones there. Since it was ten-thirty on a Monday morning, I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was disappointing to see such an important monument left in solitude when it had been surrounded by throngs of St. Augustine tourists for nearly 150 years. But why would the city officials of St. Augustine agree to remove their historic monument? Two words – George Floyd. After the nation-wide outcry when Floyd, a Black man, was killed by a white police officer in Minneapolis, a movement erupted all around America to remove, destroy, or relocate all monuments, memorials, and statues that had any symbolism to the Confederacy – which included the Confederate Monument in St. Augustine. After bowing to the mounting pressure, the monument was removed on September 9, 2020 and moved by truck and barge to the Trout Creek Memorial Park and Marina. Out of sight – out of mind.
In my resin mind, which was hollow, I totally agreed with removing statues that honor Confederate leaders, such as Robert E. Lee or Jefferson Davis. Those men, and other leaders like them, were traitors to the United States of America and shouldn’t be honored for their disloyalty to our nation. But the Confederate Monument, which was once located on the grounds of the Plaza de la Constitucion in downtown St. Augustine, was a simple thirty-foot-tall granite obelisk inscribed with the names of the local men who served in the Confederate Army and perished trying to defend their homeland. And to me, that particular monument was a Presidential artifact because President Grover Cleveland saw it with his own eyes, and may have touched it as well, during his visit to the Plaza de la Constitucion with First Lady Frances Folsom Cleveland on February 23, 1888.
While Vicki stayed in the Jeep and enjoyed her Instagram account on her phone, Tom carried me up to the monument where I had a chance to see what all the controversy was about. What I saw were the names of 45 men – 23 of them were listed on the front of the monument, while the other 22 were on the backside. But it was the inscriptions that touched me the deepest. The inscription on the front read: ‘Our Dead. In Memoriam our Loved Ones Who gave up Their Lives in the service of The Confederate States.’ The inscription of the right side of the monument was etched with: ‘They died far from the home that gave them birth by comrades honored and by comrades mourned.’ And finally, I saw the wording on the obelisk’s left side that stated: ‘They have crossed the river and rest under the shade of the trees.’
After Tom and I paid our respects to the young men who perished for following the orders of their superior officers during the Civil War, the two of us rejoined Vicki in the Jeep. I stood silent in the camera case and thought about the War Between the States and the thousands of men who perished in the four-year battle – some wore blue uniforms and others wore grey, but all were Americans at one time. In my mind, slavery of any kind is humanity at its worst. I often think about slavery in America, which began in late August 1619, and how our nation has suffered for those sins since. For 246 years, African people were forced onto ships and brought to America against their will; only to suffer the bondage of slavery for the rest of their lives. I also think about how amazing our nation would be today if slavery never existed on our soil. That’s right, what if the 388,000 African slaves who were brought to America over the span of 246 years never came here in the first place? America would be heaven on Earth; and we would likely be woke-free.
Twenty minutes after we arrived at the Trout Creek Memorial Park and Marina, we began the 170-mile journey to the “Hostess City of the South”, and I’m not talking about cupcakes. With a planned arrival time set for around 1:30pm, my photographer was taking me to the city where things go bump in the night and gump in the day – Savannah, Georgia. Once there, I’ll be given the opportunity to stand in the footsteps of seven American Presidents and stand on the grave of one Signer of the Declaration of Independence. And like with any haunted city, especially the most haunted city in the nation, our visit will be like a box of chocolates. We’ll never know what we’re going to get!
