John Varner and my connection to his family

John Varner (1792 - 1870) was born in the Commonwealth of Virginia the same year that the western wilderness known as Kentucky was admitted to statehood. The young Varner (a German surname, not sure of the timeline of immigration) became acquainted with that wilderness south of the Ohio River and joined the Kentucky Militia, serving during the War of 1812, and continuing his service as private for a period of five years.

In April 1813, he married Rebecca McCarty, a Pennsylvania native born in 1795. They lived in Harrison County, Kentucky, at the time, in the central part of the Bluegrass State, between Lexington and Cincinnati.

The following year, due west some 230 miles, upon the banks of the Wabash River, the Rappite community, known as Harmony, was springing to life. Founded by George Rapp in 1814, the river town would become home to a utopian society and renamed New Harmony in 1825. It was during this rapid period of growth, 1814-25, just as Indiana was becoming a state, populated along it's southernmost rivers, that my Mills family moved there from nearby Gibson County.

John Mills (1809-1897), my fourth great uncle, was intrigued by the growth of the town and it's new owner Robert Dale Owen. He married my aunt, Elizabeth L Varner (1814-1894), in Posey County, 22 Mar 1831, and they became involved in the community theater. Elizabeth was the eldest daughter of John Varner, of Virginia. He'd relocated to Harmony (Posey County, IN) sometime in the 1820's during the town's boom. The Varners and Mills obviously became well acquainted by this time and both families appear on the 1830 U.S. Census there.

Uncle John Mills was a member of the Thespian Society (1839) and active in politics. Later, he became a government surveyor and worked to survey lands across the Wabash River in Southern Illinois. My Mills became pioneers of White County, IL, and are written about in the county history. The Varners also moved to Illinois, settling in Saline County, some 50-plus miles southeast of New Harmony. That's where John Varner died in 1870. His wife, Rebecca, died three years later in Eldorado, same county. There is no record of their burial.

Elizabeth (Varner) Mills also had two siblings who married into my Mills and Hussey family (my Gibson County pioneer ancestors). Her younger sister, Sarah Ann Varner (1821-1908), born in New Harmony, married John's younger brother, my 4G Uncle Samuel Corson "SC" Mills (1812-1887) in Posey County, 10 Sep 1837. Sam and Sarah also moved to White County, IL, in the 1840's. The 1850 U.S. Census shows Sam was a Grayville innkeeper. From there, they settled in Menard County, IL, further north.

Elizabeth and Sarah had a younger sister, Mary Sneed Varner (1823-1904), also born in New Harmony, and she married George Buell Hussey (1819-1843) in 1840. George is my first cousin and his mother was a Mills (John and Samuel's sister, Aphia, in fact). His uncles probably influenced his move to Posey County from Gibson and introduced him to the Varner family. But unfortunately, he died three years into his marriage before the families moved to Illinois. His widow did move and remarried in White County in 1847.

Interestingly, John and Rebecca Varner had a son in New Harmony in 1827. They named him Robert Dale Varner (1827-1913). He didn't marry into my family, but I found his name interesting. Robert Dale Owen had purchased New Harmony from the Rappites two years earlier.

So my family was very connected to the Varner family, from the moment they arrived in [New] Harmony around 1820. John Varner started out as a shoemaker, according to his Kentucky Militia record, but soon went into farming, an occupation he held in Indiana and Illinois.

My Uncle Samuel "SC" Mills, remained connected in business to my 4G Grandfather, Dustin Mills, his brother in Gibson County, IN. They developed a chain pump for wells, which they sold in Port Gibson when the Wabash and Erie Canal was in operation. Both men were carpenters, by trade, and farmers.

My Mills arrived in Gibson County from Kennebec County, Maine, circa 1811. The Husseys arrived a short while later from the same area of Maine, coming by way of Ohio, where George B. Hussey was born. The Mills were pioneers in Southern Indiana and Illinois.

ARE ONE-PERCENTERS SCARED, YET?!?!

 

They know how the French Revolution started, right?

Are they scared, yet?

Back at the beginning of the 19th century, it was the "Second Estate" who held all of France's wealth, well them and the Church (i.e. "The First Estate"). They represented TWO PERCENT of the nation's population. In 21st century America, the wealth holders are an even more elite ONE PERCENT. They know what happened to France's Two Percenters, right?

So have they learned nothing from history? You can only stand on the necks of the other 99% for so long before a grumble becomes a revolt becomes a revolution that totally topples your government. I feel we are on the verge.

Ever since the George Floyd riots and the BLM movement came on like a storm, we've seen a shift in the national consciousness. It stands to reason. My daughter's generation is one of the most liberal we've seen since the civil unrest of the 1960's. Millennials are about to take over at the ballot box. And they don't like the choices they are being given--a convicted felon/wannabe dictator or a mostly dead old money Democrat/career politician/baby sniffer. There is no winner in that two-ticket scenario. I'd rather vote for a rotting carcass.

The one-percenters have done their damndest to hold onto power. But rich, old white dudes, I've got news for you. The clock's ticking and you're not getting any younger. Shoot yourself up with collagen, dye your hair, hell, cryogenically freeze yourself and blast your frozen self into space, your time is up. The revolution is coming for you!

I've been preaching this to my daughters since they were in middle and high school. "Get involved and TAKE BACK YOUR GOVERNMENT!"

They want to see a government that works for them and regular people and stops treating corporations like they are the weary and poor. Sidenote: Why do we call it socialism only when it benefits real, breathing human beings??? STOP CORPORATE WELLFARE AND BANK BAILOUTS!!!

Start listening to the populous or they'll be forced to demand your attention at guillotine point. How fond are you of your heads?

Are you even listening one percenters?

Those who don't learn from history...and we've been going down this Revolutionary Road for some time now. If January 6, 2021, taught us nothing else, we are ripe for another 1776 moment. Instead of fighting a monarchy and parliment an ocean away, it'll be our very own government on these shores...on the very steps of our Capitol. Sad that it has come to that, but do you see another way out? (NOTE: I don't condone the Jan 6 attacks in ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM. It's not the politicians who are to blame anyway, it's their corporate backers. Go after them!)

The one percenters aren't going to let go of the levers of power, not until we pry them from their cold, dead fingers. Yet the vast majority of you will sit there, all cozy, in your whitewashed suburban paradise with two cars tucked safely in your garages, thinking nothing can be done to fix Washington DC.

Well, Trump certainly wasn't the answer. He didn't drain one centimeter of the swamp. Nor is the mostly dead Commander-in-Chief. WE NEED NEW BLOOD! And if you think AOC is "out there," wait until you see what's coming!

Millennials are hardcore leftists, by and large. They could give a shit about your blue blood or your institutions. AND I'M HERE FOR IT!

Housing prices are astronomical, as are groceries, fuel and other staples of our Western civilization. You can't keep expecting hard-working people to hold three jobs while trying to raise children and maintain a home. It's just not sustainable. And why should it even be that way? So rich, white, old men can keep lugging their 350-pound frames into their Wall Street brokerages, smoking thousand dollar stogies and laughing at the rat race we continually run for their amusement? 

We're tired of running on the hamster wheel. It's time to get off.

We've let them control the narrative for too long. And look what they've done with it! Divided us, that's what. They've painted us into left and right boxes, playing on our fears to keep us separated, when there's a whole lot more that unites us. Our hatred of the one percent, for example. But like sheep...

I'm not a sheeple. I see the writing on the wall.

Do they?

On Becoming Orphaned

I know it’s a funny word choice at my age, but feeling orphaned after losing your parents is real. And as we approach the 8-year mark since Mom’s passing (tomorrow), I’ve been more reflective. I’ve made several posts on social media to memorialize her.

Since losing Dad two years and two months ago, almost, I’ve had that feeling of being an orphan, parentless. And though I’m well equipped at 55 to face life without them, it still sucks. I can’t send Dad an e-mail or post to his Facebook funny memes, favorite songs, or pick up the phone to tell him I’m thinking about and thankful for him. Nor my Mom, though she loathed social media. She’d pick up the phone once a quarter and catch-up for an hour or so, if she hadn’t heard from me.

I miss their presence in my life even if it wasn’t immediate. Just knowing they were a phone cal, an e-mail or a Facebook post away gave me great comfort. Now that they are gone, there is a noticeable void in my life.

And forget my family! That unit disintegrated the moment my Mom was gone. We knew right away she had been the glue holding us together. Grief and sibling rivalry took over. It’s been a slow decline ever since. I still have two siblings I don’t associate with, especially since Dad’s passing in October 2021.

It was bad enough losing them, but losing our sense of family? That’s made it doubly rough.

My parents were young lovers who first met during middle school. They didn’t attend the same school, but lived just blocks from each other in the Tower Heights neighborhood of Princeton, Indiana. Dad says he first noticed my Mom while delivering the newspaper. He was smitten.

They were just 20 years old in the photo above, standing in the snow outside my grandparent’s house, holding a young Christopher. I was blessed to have young, hip parents who were cool to hang around. All my childhood and high school friends liked them. I like to say we grew up together, my parents and I.

We didn’t always remain close. My leaving the church around 2005 was difficult for them to accept. My divorce seven years later was even more so and drove a wedge, particularly between my mother and I. But her cancer diagnosis in 2014 changed all that. Just months after my failed attempt during Spring Break in Panama City Beach to bridge the gap, my mother called me with the news. We cried together, then came together that summer. I’ll never forget our conversation on her back porch in Noblesville, IN, when we finally reached understanding.

This time of year—October and November—is especially hard these days. As I mentioned, tomorrow marks eight years since Mom left us. It doesn’t get all that much easier. I just find writing, whether in my journal, this blog or on social media, therapeutic, so thank you for obliging me. Becoming an orphan, even at 53, sucks. It’s difficult to come to terms with. Your parents are monumental in shaping your self image. Once they are gone, you do a lot of evaluating, at least I have. I came away thankful for the gifts they bestowed and the character they helped to shape in me. I know they are/were proud of me, their oldest child. I can take some comfort in that.

Rest in peace, Mom and Dad, your eldest orphan.
 

Community: Connections that heal

"We don’t heal in isolation, but in community.”– S. Kelley Harrell

“We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men.” – Herman Melville

In my journal this morning, I shared a moment of gratitude for the connections I’ve made on Fort Myers Beach. So many of my friends and neighbors are friendly, kind-hearted folks from the Midwest. I was journaling just how blessed I am to live here.

I acknowledged Goodness & Mercy for bringing me in contact with so many good people. I really love the people on this island. It fills me with a sense of connection to this place, one that I’ve felt for more than a decade.

COMMUNITY

I am blessed to be a part of this island community. I feel a sense of community here that I haven’t felt in over two years.

I understand the importance of it. I am a pack animal. Since childhood, I’ve always been very social. I guess you could say I “came by it honestly.” My mother, God rest her soul, was voted “class flirt” in her 1967 high school yearbook. 😄 Everyone of my high school teachers told my mother, “Chris is always talking in class. If he’d just apply himself…” But that was the best part of attending a small, Catholic high school with kids I’d known for years…some since the first grade!…was being social and honing some basic and crucial life skills. I didn’t realize it as a teen, but I was building community. And a few of those connections have lasted a LIFETIME!

Feeling connected to “your pack” helps provide a sense of belonging. I realize that now that I’m older. I appreciate and cherish those connections. It helps to waylay loneliness and the feeling of isolation.

In the Information Age in which we live, it’s easy to rely on social media for those connections, but it can create a false sense of community. I try to see platforms like Facebook and Instagram as vehicles to maintain those connections and create new ones. I have more of an appreciation for that having been off the latter for almost a year before rejoining in July. It’s so nice when those virtual connections get flesh and bone when I finally meet a new FB friend in person! And since moving back to the island, you wouldn’t believe how many new friends have come up to me excitedly, “I follow you on Facebook!” It always makes me happy. A new member added to my pack.

MY BOULDER COMMUNITY

Meet Nicole Speer, Boulder Town Council progressive now running for mayor. She is part of my pack out there. We met while volunteering to feed and clothe the city’s homeless. My pack included MOSTLY unhoused people, as I was one of them.

I made good use of my time out there in 2020-21 advocating for the unhoused while living with them and volunteering to assist them get a leg up. They WERE my community, a tight-knit family.

I volunteered weekly with Feet Forward, Inc., founded and operated by my friend Jennifer Livovich. Her organization fed me in the park several times, then I began helping her team setup, befriending many of them and earning her trust. In a matter of weeks, I was at her place helping to organize and load supplies for the weekly community meals. It’s where I made many friends, like entrepreneur and Feet Forward board member Graham, and volunteers and community activists, like Nicole.

I met her when she was considering a run for City Council and became a member of her campaign team, helping with social media content. She got elected the month after my father’s passing forced me to leave Boulder for good. And now look at her! I am so proud, as she is a beautiful person inside and out!

But I realized with this morning’s moment of gratitude just how much I MISSED THAT feeling of community.

I left Boulder, buried my Dad and bounced between the Indianapolis area and Evansville for months at a time, 19 of them in all. At the end of May, I landed back on Fort Myers Beach…MY BEACH! This island has felt like home to me since I first landed here the summer of 2011. And not a day goes by that I don’t ride my bike up and down this seven-mile paradise and get waved to, honked or hollered at by a member of my community.

It feels good to be connected again…to have a pack. That’s all.

Tribute to a childhood friend

MELISSA JAMES SALMON
November 30, 1968 - May 7, 2022
(Click for obituary)

We grew up in Indianapolis together, a couple of Winston Drive kids in one of the city’s middle class neighborhoods near Arlington High School on the city’s Northeast side. My family moved to 5701 Winston Dr. the summer between my fourth and fifth grade years.

A few houses down towards the cul-de-sac was the two-story James residence. Melissa was 2.5 months younger than me and one of my first neighborhood playmates. I was just beginning to notice girls, but we were too young for romance. I’d spend time playing in her room upstairs and her family was always warm and welcoming.

Before long, my favorite playmate was leaving the neighborhood, the city, the state for good. I don’t remember any teary goodbyes but I always had fond memories of Melissa, her amazing smile, her dimples and her friendship when I was literally the new kid on the block.

Some years passed, nearly a decade, and there was a knock on our front door. Mom told me there was someone here to see me, but didn’t say who. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I walked downstairs and turned towards the open front door, and through the screen I saw that bright, warm smile and those dimples. She was no little girl, but a beautiful young woman, a teenager finishing high school. I was blown away!

The family had come back to Indy from New Jersey for a visit, circa 1985. I met Melissa on the porch and then we walked down the street past her old house, catching up and recalling old times. It was a wonderful, but much too brief visit. Then she was gone again, like a flash of warm sunlight.

I lost touch with her for many years, then social media bridged the gap. Now married with kids, Melissa was about to relocate with her family to Central Florida. I was in Tallahassee with a family of my own. We kept up a casual acquaintance online with vague future plans to someday meetup. We watched each other’s kids grow up on Facebook. That was until I lost my account last year.

Fast forward to October 2023 and I have only been back on Facebook a few months. I’d failed to reconnect with so many old friends, focusing on new ones and building a following for my online newspaper on Fort Myers Beach. Well, who shows up in my friend requests, but Melissa’s mother, Linda James. I asked her to give my regards to her daughters. The whole family was now in Florida, I learned.

But it was only TODAY that I learned of Melissa’s sudden death. Linda’s message to me read, “Melissa passed away last year unexpectedly, but she talked about fun times with you all on Winston Dr…”

I was floored.

How did I not know? Why didn’t I keep in better touch?

Melissa flourished into a beautiful woman, wife and mother. I thoroughly enjoyed watching her life through photos and other online content. I admired her greatly. I’m not sure I ever got the chance to tell her how much, though I often told her what a shock it was to see her through the screen door in the 80s. I remember it like a scene from a movie, me moving for the door in super slow motion.

Rest in peace my dear friend. You were dearly loved.

Melissa and husband David in 2017

Indiana Roots

A few years back, I started a private Facebook group for my immediate family, prompted by my niece Kyrsten’s inquiry about our family history. It was called OUR INDIANA ROOTS and it traced my mother’s family back to pioneer times. That page was sadly lost because I failed to name anyone else administrator before my account was hacked and permanently deleted.

I was off the social media site for close to a year. When I rejoined the Facebook community this summer, there was no getting that content back. I still have my research and my Ancestry account, but all the family connections I’d made previously, I’ve yet to re-establish. And since arriving on Fort Myers Beach, I’ve had very little time to focus on genealogy, a decades-long passion. I think I’ve had my laptop open a couple of times.

I went back through this blog to find some of the old posts and so here is a sampling:

Indiana Roots

https://nolesrock.blogspot.com/2017/02/our-indiana-roots.html

https://nolesrock.blogspot.com/2010/11/morris-birkbecks-notes-on-journey-in.html

https://nolesrock.blogspot.com/2016/03/mary-mills-white-my-5th-great-aunt.html

https://nolesrock.blogspot.com/2017/11/4g-grandfather-duston-mills-pioneer.html

https://nolesrock.blogspot.com/2015/08/200-years-in-indiana.html

I’ll get more settled here and find time to do more research and writing. I already have a 600+ page manuscript on my Mills family, Mom’s pioneer ancestors. One day that’ll be a published work of mine. One day.

My Dad

We didn’t always see eye-to eye, me and him. I was his oldest and too much like him for their to be a lot of middle ground. We were stubborn, hot-headed and we both loved the same woman—my Mom.

Like most teenagers, I rebelled against his authority and his autonomy in the home. I didn’t want to get up and go to church on Sundays. When I refused, he’d drag me out of bed or coerce me with a glass of cold water. I only bowed up at him ONCE. He offered for me to take the first swing. I took one look at his meat paws—plus he was 6’1” to my 5’9” and outweighed me by 150 lbs—and came to my senses.

But that is often fathers and sons. Many never get past their egos, their pride and stubbornness.

Fortunately, that wasn’t the case for me and my Dad. We were both passionate, sensitive, spiritual men who could find that middle ground. In fact, we became rather close and his pride in the man I had become was evident.

A spiritual retreat weekend in October 1989, just after he and the family moved back to Indiana from Florida, sealed our friendship and mutual respect. There was a special moment at that retreat in Dowling Park, FL, at Camp Suwannee where we hugged, cried and expressed our affection for one another. That’s a moment I’ll always cherish.

Dad was most proud that I’d become a man of faith and a leader in my church. I was actively involved in music ministry, helping the youth group, organizing retreats for teens and men’s ministry. I supported his ministry efforts in Tallahassee and Indianapolis, as well.

But over the years, as my faith matured and I shed organized religion, we didn’t speak as much. Our political views differed greatly, as well, as I became disenfranchised with the church and our government. Dad was a Reagan Republican. I went to a liberal arts school. I vowed not to get into it with him. In our later years, I always diverted conversations away from religion and politics.

My divorce in 2013 became another bone of contention. Dad believed I was her spiritual covering and that if I’d just return to my former faith in God, the magic would be restored. I didn’t see it that way. He did his best to support my ex and even offered to relocate her and the girls to Indy. He loved my girls and my ex-wife with a fatherly, supernatural love, so I forgave him.

I loved my Dad.

After Mom died in November 2015, he was lost and alone and my heart went out to him. He didn’t always show it, but Mom was his whole world! They met in the small town of Princeton, Indiana, growing up in Tower Heights. He was her paper boy and was smitten at an early age. They began a love affair in high school. I saw how the loss devastated him, so in the Spring of 2016, just months after Mom died of cancer, I determined to spend my summer with him in Cicero, IN.

That is time I will always cherish. It is second only to the three months I stayed with him in 2020 (Aug-Oct), the year before COVID took him.

When I boarded the train in November 2020 bound for Boulder, CO, I knew that was the last time I’d see him alive. We said our goodbyes at the train station in Indy. As I walked upstairs to the train platform, I looked down and saw the lost man again, all misty eyed and not wanting to turn and leave. That was the last time I saw my Dad. He was sad to see me go. He knew that I needed to be with my daughters in Colorado, so he purchased the ticket.

The following September, he got sick and was hospitalized. They sent him home for a few days, but he was back barely able to breathe. I got the call from my sister, Keely, his caregiver, on October 4, 2021. He was gone. I was so glad for that time in 2020 and that moment at the train station.

I know my Dad loved me. He loved all of his kids, even his in-law children, like my ex. I was his firstborn son, and even though he struggled to express it regularly, I knew he was still proud of me. In a conversation with my sister, Heidi, which she shared at his memorial service, he said was proudest of the Dad I had become. That meant the world to me!

He set the standard. Miss you, Dad.

We

 

Florida Connection Made Early in Life

Princeton, Indiana, my birthplace will forever be home to me. I have deep roots there dating back to pioneer times, 1811. I grew up in Indianapolis until the age of 17 and that city also feels like home to me. But from a very early age, Florida has had a special hold on me.

My first time in the Sunshine State I can only recall from faint memories and family photos. My parents took my sister and I to the new Walt Disney World in Central Florida for Christmas 1971. We stayed in the Contemporary Hotel and I found the space-age monorail going right through the heart of that concrete and glass building an absolute marvel! I was only three years old at the time.

I believe we went from there to visit my Dad’s oldest sister, Pat Kern, and her family who had just moved to Miramar, Florida. Uncle John took a teaching position at Miami-Dade Community College upon his departure from the news media in Indiana. It was my first beach experience and seeing the massive Atlantic Ocean.

It was just a couple of years later that my Dad’s parents retired to South Florida from Princeton, IN. We visited them once in Lake Worth before they died, at least I have photo evidence that we did. My Doyle grandparents lived in a trailer park with shuffleboard courts for four years before death visited them in March 1977. Grandma and Grandpa Doyle died within days of each other and were buried in Lake Worth’s Catholic Cemetery very near the edge of town and the Everglades.

Mom had an oldest brother, David, who also became a Floridian in the early 1970’s. He sold insurance for Prudential and left Princeton for New Port Richey after adopting my cousin Shawn. That period of my life from being a mere toddler to a kindergartener was full of upheaval. In a matter of two years, my Godmother Aunt Pat, my grandparents and my Uncle David all left our small town in Southwest Indiana for Sunny Florida. Following that, in ‘74, we made the move to Indy.

By the time I reached junior high in 1980, my family was vacationing in Destin in Florida’s Panhandle. We loved the pristine sand dunes, soft powdery white sands and emerald waters. It wasn’t as populated or developed back then. My parents fell in love with the area and moved their vacation spot to the Seaside Villas in Panama City Beach for the next three decades. Like I would later become, my Mom was a certified beach bum!

The mid-1980’s would find my immediate family in Florida, too. Making good on a promise to my Mom, Dad took a transfer to Florida with his job as soon as it became available. So a week after I graduated high school, we all moved to Tallahassee. That began my 26 years in the Capital City of the Sunshine State and 30 in Florida, including Fort Myers Beach.

I found FMB only because another one of Dad’s sisters had purchased a winter home here on Bay Beach Lane. I caught the beach bug in 2011 and after a brutal winter in Indiana moved here that summer. My time here with my wife and kids 2011-12, then on my own as a recent divorcee until February 2014, is when I fell in love with this island!

You can ask my daughters. From the time I moved back to Tallahassee in ‘14, they always knew I’d find my way back here. After my youngest graduated in May 2023, I did just that. Coming back to a hurricane ravaged coast had its downsides but I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else! FMB is my home…and my happy place.

But while riding out the outer bands of Hurricane Idalia into the early morning hours, I considered for the first time how early my connection to Florida began. I remembered Aunt Pat and Uncle David moving here first and then my grandparents. Those early trips to Miramar and New Port Richey, trips on David’s boat out to a private key and all subsequent beach visits gave me a real love for being near the water.

I guess my connection to this state runs pretty deep, too. Regardless of Andrew, Micheal or Ian, all major hurricanes that impacted me in some way or another, I’ll never leave this place again…my happy place!

Beach Elementary: A Unique Firsthand Perspective

 Original post:

https://fmbislander.wordpress.com/2023/07/28/beach-elementary-a-unique-firsthand-perspective/

BY Ellie Bunting (Special to the FMBIslander)

Tomorrow [October 6, 2022] at 6 PM at Skip One Seafood, there will be a meeting to discuss the future of the Beach School. This school has been an integral part of our community since 1937. I attended the Beach School in the late 50’s. My children attended the Beach School in the 90’s. My mother taught at the Beach School for many years. My daughter did her teaching internship at the Beach School. The Beach School is a very special place, and it needs to be available for future generations of beach kids to attend.

Photo courtesy of Ellie Bunting

Over the last 80 years, the number of children who have benefitted from this island school is in the thousands. The school is the heart of the community, and all of the beach kids have fond memories of the years they spent learning the basics and preparing them for a successful transition to the “big school” in town.

Prior to 1937, children on the island were bussed to the Iona School on McGregor.  Thanks to many dedicated mothers, the first beach school opened in the Mayhew Page cottage at 2563 Cottage Street. One teacher oversaw the 27 first, second, and third grade children.  She was paid $80 a month by the school board.  Parents took donations to pay for rental of the cottage, which was still standing before Ian (it is no longer there).  In 1938, a two-room schoolhouse was built on Sterling Street.  Another teacher was added to the school which now housed grades one to six. When the population of the island increased during World War II, a lunchroom was added behind the school which also served as an additional classroom.  In 1943 another teacher was added, and by 1949, the old school closed, and the new school opened on School Street.

This is the second Beach School on Sterling Street (Photo courtesy of Ellie Bunting)

The original building had six classrooms, and a large auditorium with a stage. In 1955 a cafeteria was added as well as an administration office and additional classrooms.

Growing up on the island, the school was a gathering place for families.  I can still remember the names of each teacher I had for the six years I spent at the Beach School.  My mother was the “permanent substitute” at the school for many years, and I was lucky enough to get to know some of these dedicated educators on a personal level.

When my children attended the school in the 1990’s, I realized that little had changed.  The school was still a special place with a hometown feel.  Everyone knew each other and it was like a private school. I was thrilled when my daughter was in Winnie Yordy’s class.  I was in her class when she was a first or second year teacher.  Angie was in her class as she was looking towards retirement.

Photo courtesy of Ellie Bunting

In its heyday, the school housed over 300 students.  The population has decreased since the cost of living on the island has become out of reach for many young parents. However, we should not assume this decline will continue. We have many Beach School alumni who have settled here. They are now becoming parents, and their children need the Beach School as much as their parents did back in the day.

As of this posting [originally posted October 5, 2022, titled “Save Our School”], the future of Beach Elementary remains uncertain. [Editor’s Note: Lee County School District announced earlier this year plans to open November 13th for the return of students to our island school.]

Ellie Bunting is a writer and realtor, working with husband of 39 years Bob and daughter Angie at TriPower. A retired teacher, Ellie serves as President of the Board of Directors for the Estero Island Historic Society. Both she and Bob are avid boaters with extensive knowledge of the wonderful fishing, sailing, and paddle boarding opportunities right in our backyard. Ellie has a book soon to be published on the history of our beloved schoo. Follow her blog at buntingsbeachblog.com .

Latest Article - FMBIslander.com

 https://fmbislander.com/2023/07/24/no-date-for-reopening-matanzas-pass-preserve/

I haven’t been writing like I should, but I did post one article today.

Two reasons—this heat and humidity is sapping my energy. We were under heat advisories this weekend due to 110-degree-plus heat indices. So getting out to run down interviews or take pics has been limited. I stayed inside, sat at a bar (to hydrate) or in a pool.

Also, I’ve been asked to do some grant writing for a friend’s church. Maybe overstretching myself between all this writing, research and volunteering.

Stay tuned.

New Article on the Beach Library

https://fmbislander.wordpress.com/2023/07/18/fort-myers-beach-library-update/

To view all my recent articles, visit FMBIslander.com

My new Facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100094471973535

Goodbye Shamrock!

 

Video credit: @DebyRoxane

Photos I took last week:

The famed dive bar at 2201 Estero Blvd was decimated by Ian and demolished today by heavy machinery.  My coworker and friend DebyRoxane Sams shot video this morning.

The Mound House, an island treasure

 

It sits at the end of Connecticut Street and is my favorite spot to take my coffee and journal to greet the day! No better place to catch the sunrise over the red mangroves on the back bay.

I took these photos this morning ahead of tomorrow’s interview with Events Coordinator Adam Knight at the Mound House. Being the highest point on Estero Island helped spare the 117-year-old property from too much saltwater intrusion. Most of the damage was taken by the underground museum portion, now under renovation.

The oldest home on Fort Myers Beach, its back portion, the Tudor-style villa was erected in 1906. But the shell mound it sits atop is centuries old, piled almost 20 feet high by the native Calusa people. This morning when I visited to take these photos, there was a lone fisherman pulling Spanish mackerel up onto the observation dock.

It’s a serene location to sip my coffee, gather my thoughts, meditate, journal and view the marine life. There is an active Osprey nest on a pole just behind the shoreline mangroves. I typically see a West Indian manatee or bottlenose dolphin when I’m back there.

Look for my article to appear tomorrow in the FMB Islander.

Introducing the FMB Islander

I'm in the process of starting a new venture -- an online, independent news site specific to Fort Myers Beach. I previously worked for the Island Sand Paper when I lived here before. It has since gone out of publication, sold by it's local owners. I loved writing for them and diving into human interest stories about all the characters here on FMB. I want to do that again.

Currently, the island is served by Breeze Newspapers a media group who publishes the Beach Observer. I want to do something unique that meets today's audience where they are--online. A truly local, grassroots outlet with stories that interest the beach's residents and visitors.

There's a rebirth happening here on Fort Myers Beach and I moved back specifically to be a part of that new growth and development. Recovery from Hurricane Ian is slow, but progress is being made. That's the focus of my very first article.

Come leave a comment or become a regular visitor to FMB Islander:

https://fmbislander.wordpress.com/

Ian's Scars Slow to Heal

***PRIME***TIME*** Coach Prime, Deion Sanders

In my last post about my blog name, alma mater and fandom, I ended on a player I did not originally care for. He arrived at Florida State from Fort Myers the year after I moved to Tallahassee. As I detailed in my last post, I was not an instant fan of the university or the team. In fact, I was a little annoyed at the garnet and gold displayed everywhere and the rabidity of the fans there. I'd never lived in a college football town...let alone in the Deep South!

So this braggadocios, multi-sport athlete from South Florida makes a big splash in town and at Florida State. He almost immediately garnered national attention and a couple of shiny nicknames--"Neon Deion" and "PrimeTime." Then came the infamous "Seminole Shuffle," a spin on the Chicago Bears "SuperBowl Shuffle" a couple years prior. I liked when the Bears did it (and backed it up). The Nole version was followed by a serious ass-whoppin' by #2 Miami (well deserved, in my opinion).

Deion Sanders rapping during the infamous shuffle.

 

He went on to be a success in two professional sports, then followed it up with a TV career. For awhile, PrimeTime was everywhere. I didn't dislike him so much after I became a devotee of Florida State Football and an alum. He'd helped Bowden to forge a dynasty and put our program on the map.

Fast forward to the Willie Taggart fiasco at Florida State and the search for a new head coach. Taggart was FSU's first African-American head coach, though alum and Defensive Line Coach, Odell Hagins, had served as interim.

I REALLY, REALLY wanted my alma mater to follow-up with a second African-American head coach...and his name was now COACH PRIME!

Yes, at the time Coach Prime was untested, but before HBCU Jackson State scooped him up, I wanted FSU to make a PR splash (like we've seen at Colorado the last six months) and take a chance. Prime is a proven winner--and say what you will about his hype and swag--HE BACKS IT UP!

I'm still real sick we couldn't find the courage to hire our former star corner and NFL Hall of Famer. Instead, we settled for Mike Norvell out of Memphis, a move I'm only slowly coming around to appreciate. Still...what coulda been...

Now, naysayers were still questioning Colorado's decision late last year to make Coach Prime a Power 5 head coach. I say "BRAVO! Well done, Buffaloes!" It was a decision that paid immediate dividends. How many 1-11 programs make the kind of immediate turnaround we've seen in Boulder? THEY SOLD OUT THEIR SPRING GAME! Programs like Florida State and Alabama don't even do that! They even beat out the latter on garnering ESPN's national spotlight. They broadcast the sold-out game and I watched every minute of it.

Just like Coach Prime did at JSU, he once again is stealing some of my alma mater's top recruits for Colorado. He has 4- and 5-star recruits lining up to make visits. And all I can think, is imagine if he had the prestige and marketing of FSU behind those recruiting efforts??

He's turning lowly Colorado around right before our eyes. He did it in Jackson, Mississippi, and now he's taken the Prime train to Boulder. I can't wait to see how his team performs in the fall. I believe they become bowl eligible for the first time in a long time. We'll see, but just in marketing and sales, alone, he's already worth his weight in gold! The school has already sold out season tickets for the upcoming football season. Coach Prime merchandise sales are off the charts!

This is the buzz and excitement I wanted at FSU a few years back. Instead, we heard a big thud with the Norvell hire. Let's just say, he's no Coach Prime.

All I can say about it all is: LET'S GO BUFFS!!! #SkoBuffs

#CoachPrime #PrimeTime #DeionSanders #Coach21Prime

A Proud Florida State Seminole: A Retrospective

My Dad moved to Tallahassee in April 1986 for a new position. He would lead the Florida Credit Union League. We helped him move into a small apartment on the city's northside during my senior year spring break. The family would join him a week after my graduation in June.

When I arrived in Tallahassee that year, I knew very little of Florida State University or Bobby Bowden or the fledgling dynasty. I just knew I lived in Florida!

The University sat near the heart of downtown on the city's westside and was bounded on one side by the Florida A&M University and not too far to the west, the school I would attend, Tallahassee Community College. This was very much a college and state government town, with a large transient population. Everyone in town seemed to be a fan of FSU Football and Coach Bowden. Little did I know, at that time, that I'd become one, too, or that I'd witness the building of a dynasty in little old Tallahassee.

HUMBLE BEGINNINGS

You see, when I got there, the small campus boasted a very high school-looking football stadium with a weird name, Doak Campbell. Literally, it looked like an erector set from the outside, long before it became a brick behemoth, "the House that Bobby Built." It was really quite laughable to me.

I don't remember attending any games that first year there. One striking feature of the metallic skeletal stadium was the scoreboard and "flaming spear" that seemed to light up with crowd noise. The louder the crowd, the higher the lights on the spear would rise until reaching the flame at the top. That was pretty cool, as was all the pregame fanfare, culminating in a student in full Seminole Tribe costume, riding his Appaloosa steed to midfield and planting an ACTUAL flaming spear in the center of the warrior head logo. THAT was impressive! (It still gives me goosebumps!)

I'd post a video, but everyone is familiar with the tradition, the best in college football, I'd argue. But that first year, 1986, I hardly paid attention to college football or the Noles. I honestly didn't understand what all the hype was about. Then, the Bowden-led Noles played my Indiana Hoosiers in the All-American Bowl and beat them. I thought that was a cool coincidence. Then, I met a third-string lineman at church and we became fast friends. Thus, my interest in Florida State Football started to grow.

I remember when Burt Reynolds, the famed alum, paid for new dorms for the football players. My buddy moved in the first year, 1987, and at the end of that season, traveled with his team to Tempe, Arizona, for the Fiesta Bowl v. Nebraska. I got to stay in his new dorm room while he was away. Now, I'm becoming more enmeshed in the culture and taking notice of the team. They beat Tom Osborne's Nebraska, by the way (a pre-cursor/foreshadowing of the 1993 National Championship Game).

Fast forward to 1991 and my buddy no longer plays for the Noles, but is living in a frat house on campus. I'd followed his career and his team, but I was still a holdout. If it was "cool" to love the Seminoles, I wasn't going to be cool. I still considered myself a casual college football fan, at that point, and a Notre Dame fan. HOWEVER, when Bowden took his team to Ann Arbor and silenced a crowd of 106,000+ I was SOLD! That was the day I became a Seminole fan 100%! Right there in my buddy's frat room, watching the exciting drama unfold on national TV. AND HISTORY, as no visiting team had ever scored 50+ points on the Michigan Wolverines!!

Click HERE for a Florida State-Michigan recap.
 

THE DYNASTY

Most people agree that Bowden's dynasty began in the decade of the 1990's, leading up to his first National Championship behind Heisman QB Charlie Ward in 1993, and continuing into the Coach Jimbo Fisher years, through the 2013 National Championship behind Heisman QB Jameis Winston.

I was there for it all!

After letting down my guard fully mid-season 1991, I eventually enrolled at Florida State as a junior, working my way through college to a degree in Communication (Class of 1997). I was a part-time student for a good portion of the 1990's. I attended as many football games, for free, as I could. I was front and center for the rise of Charlie Ward and the fast-paced, shotgun offense that suited his talents best. I vividly remember the victory celebration at Doak in January 1994.

During my tenure at FSU, I worked in the Cashier's office, starting in June 1990 at the iconic Westcott Building, the entrance to campus. The university would soon begin the largest brick construction project on the planet. "The House that Bobby Built" would soon become a reality and my new workspace. I can remember moving into the first floor, in the corner facing Pensacola and Varsity Drive. I thought I worked in the coolest place in the world! I'd take my lunches out into the stadium and sit in the bleachers eating, marveling, reminiscing...

I immersed myself in college football and FSU, attending the first visit of ESPN's College Gameday in 1993, making sure to get The Pony's (Craig James) autograph for my new wife. She was enamored. :)

I took on an online persona for the ESPN chat boards (a big thing at the time): NOLESROCK

And thus a self-administered nickname was borne and I use it for the title of this blog (in case you were wondering where that came from).

My then wife scored us tickets to the 1999 National Championship Game at the Superdome in New Orleans. We watched Bowden and the Pete Warrick-led Noles beat the Gators, such sweet revenge for a regular season loss! It was our SECOND national championship and tasted just as sweet as the first!

Thus, the Bowden Dynasty would take shape right before my adoring eyes. By the end of the decade, I was an alum of the best university in Florida.

Some of my best memories are attending football and basketball games with my roommates--the former player I mentioned earlier and a goofball named Shawn!

There was a player in the late 80's, who at the time I didn't care for. His nickname was PRIME TIME. In the next blog post, I'll talk more about him and where he is now. I'm a great admirer these days!

HISTORIC TORNADO OUTBREAK: A bit too close to home!

 

CBS Morning News - 1 Apr 2023

WTHR-Indianapolis, 1 Apr 2023

The National and Local news this morning led off with the deaths in Sullivan County, Indiana, currently at three, confirmed. This was the result of a historic tornado outbreak across the Midwest and Mid-South (Memphis to Nashville).

I watched the events unfold live through YouTube, donning my "virtual storm chaser" cap. The tornado that did damage in Sullivan, the birthplace of my father and most of his siblings, began as a supercell in Effingham County, Illinois, some 60-plus miles west. Storm Chaser Brad Arnold, took note of this rogue supercell near Salem, IL, southwest of Effingham, that stayed just ahead of the main line of storms. Unfortunately, those storms didn't catch up and overtake this supercell until it had travelled more than 200 miles across two states. I think when the reconnaissance is done by the National Weather Service, they'll conclude that a tornado was on the ground before Robinson (in Crawford Co, IL) until it crossed I-65 south of Greenwood, near Whiteland (Johnson Co, IN). I watched the tornado warnings hop the Wabash River from Crawford County over to Sullivan County and every subsequent county northeast of there, until even southeastern Marion County (Indianapolis) was in the warned area. Tornado Sirens went off and everything!

The confirmed damage to Whiteland, IN, is about 20 miles from my sister's house where I am staying. That's why I was keeping close tabs on this storm as it approached. Thankfully, the straight-line storms, that clocked 70-mph gusts at Indianapolis International Airport, caught up to this supercell, as I said, and the threat to us was over. Eyewitness videos of overturned semi's on I-65 north approaching Indianapolis and damage to buildings in Whiteland were all over the local news this morning at daybreak (see WTHR video, above). A little too close for comfort, I'd say!

When all was said and done on 31 Mar 2023, a historic weather day, there were more than 40 tornadoes confirmed and many small towns (and even part of Little Rock) were laid waste. The images that will continue to come to the forefront today will be breathtaking, no doubt.

I am thankful for YouTubers, like Ryan Hall, who had me glued to his live stream for over 10 HOURS! His channel featured live streams from dozens of storm chasers, including Mr. Arnold (linked above) who followed the storm into Sullivan and did prelim damage assessments. Since my family still has interests in Sullivan County, I was very thankful. But Hall's coverage from the initial outbreak, midafternoon in Iowa and Arkansas, until he signed off around 1 a.m. this morning, was essential to me tracking these dangerous storms. If you don't follow his channel, I highly recommend it. He's @RyanHallYall on both YouTube and Twitter. His Twitter feed had eyewitness tornado videos (close-up) and lots of photos of storm damage yesterday.

Drone Video of Sullivan, IN, this morning

I wish the deaths in Wynne (AR) and Sullivan could have been avoided, but these were deadly storms, no way around it. Unfortunately, the tornado hit Sullivan around 11 p.m. when people had gone to bed, and like I said, this was a rogue supercell they probably didn't see coming. My thoughts and prayers to the people affected across the Midwest and Mid-South, from Little Rock to Whiteland.

I hope we never see a super outbreak like that again soon. I'm told it's been 11 years since conditions were that perfect for a massive supercell outbreak like we witnessed 31 Mar 2023, a day that will be remembered far and wide.

HURRICANE IAN: 6 Months Ago Today

It was 6 months ago today that my ISLAND HOME was decimated by Hurricane Ian. I watched all the coverage I could the morning of September 28th as the monster storm blew ashore. It started with young adults playing in the roaring surf under the Fort Myers Beach Pier around 11. By the time the water receded later that day, the pier was GONE! So too was the beach plaza known as Times Square...and much of the rest of the 7-mile barrier island.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/hurricane-ian-relief-6month-post-disaster

The videos of the immediate aftermath were both shocking and horrifying. Homes that were 10-feet off the ground were ripped from their pilings. Long-loved beach establishments were wiped from their foundations, like Junkanoo and The Beach Pub. My "family" ran the Beach Baptist Church (blue roof, above). It, too, sat well above the ground, but the facade was ripped away and storm surge ravaged the entire property, coming right up to the front door of their elevated residence. Thank God they all survived!
https://www.gofundme.com/f/hurricane-ian-relief-6month-post-disaster

Sections of the island were unrecognizable. Media outlets around the world kept zooming in on Red Coconut RV park and the massive pile of debris that were once people's retirement homes or beach getaways. That image, alone was shocking enough, but the storm surge, as it rose above 8-foot live stream cameras, just carried away everything in it's path. I watched the beach Hooters go floating down Estero Blvd before falling apart. Not two blocks from where I once lived, beachside cottages were picked up and slammed against homes on the other side of the street (photos above). Whole blocks were wiped clean to the grayish sand. It was unbelievable devastation.

I'm starting a GoFundMe Campaign to help in this time, six months post-storm, when nobody is paying attention to Fort Myers Beach. Funds will go directly to help those in need. I'll be working hand-in-hand with my family at Beach Baptist, where we used to run a food pantry every other week, the only one on the island. They know where the greatest need is and your donations will help target that need. I will personally be delivering the funds raised here to the island community.

Thank you so much for every dollar or penny you can spare! #FMBStrong