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Diamond Lil’s Spirits of

St. Augustine

First Coast Personalities Return Live On Stage

by

Patrick M. Hughes©

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Contents Diamond Lil’sSpirits of St. Augustine

Diamond Lil sings A Bird in a Gilded CageDiamond LilPedro Menendez de Aviles Timucua Princess AntoniaAndrew Ransom, English Corsair Pirate Maggie Hunter, The Nun and the Soldier “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”, sung by cast behind the scenes.Forbes Theatrical Troupe and the Seminole Warrior, Wild CatGeneral Edmund Kirby SmithFrances Kirby Smith Lola Sanchez“I wish I was in Dixie”, song sung by cast behind the scenes.

Ten-Minute Intermission

Music: The Water is Wide or other song sung by cast behind the scenesCaptain David Dean O’KeefeFather Felix Varela

Bishop Verot’s Disastrous Funeral (can be done by male or female actor)Abbie Brooks 1830-1914 Henry Flagler Early DaysWaldo Smith, the whining complainant done by piano player if possibleHenry Flagler re “goings on”The Madame of Spanish Street Henry Flagler’s Ida Alice Henry Flagler re other entertainmentThe Tatler’s Anna Marcotte and the Alligator Race in Ponce de Leon Hotel

Henry Flagler’s Ghostly funeral Epilogue

Diamond Lil is the principle narrator that introduces the spirits of St. Augustine’s past, though Henry Flagler also plays this role. There should be a piano player though it might be possible to work with a CD and singing by the cast. There are other St. Augustine figures that may be considered such as Mandinka, MLK and so on, and these can be substituted for any of those included, but for now the play runs from 1565 to early twenties. Should the Bishops Funeral or the Madame of Spanish Street pose a problem

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due to younger audiences, then other Spirits are available. In fact a whole set of other Spirits are available.

(Song: I’m Only a Bird)Diamond Lil and the Fountain of Youth

They see me here they see me thereA phantasmagoria Known by many names in shifting successionA bunch of legends so to speak.Someone said, who I cannot say, That I was a Murat, member of the Bonaparte family treeWell, why not? Diamond Lil is my favorite monikerSee the rock in my right front toothThere since I was in my twenties seeking gold In the Klondike rush for fame and fortune.No place for a lady you might sayWith long nights for gossip and playA wild one to be sure, that’s meYukon lore believes I was that Lady known as LouAt the shooting of Dangerous Dan McGrewAnd maybe ‘tis trueBut I’ve been branded with many a name,Mad! Insane! Hysterical! Full of ‘lady complications’That boring Benson Banker saidWhen all I did was speak the truthOf thieves, extortionists, murderers, officialdom high and lowFingered out by my cutting tongueFor I conjured up a thousand scenes to prick their egos largeAnd play those men for fools.Ohhhh! That was fun.And then I met a tall handsome red-head man,Edward McConnell whom I did wedTo become Luella Day McConnellRich he was and what other man would do, With a steamboat, ferry and a mine.Slave to no man, I availed of this new bully pulpit To scold those crooked government officialsWho always hid behind the veil of ‘public good’.

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But threats against my lifeHad us leave the snow and take our fortune To sunny Saint Augustine in 1900Where I dazzled all with my diamond tooth, ringed fingersAnd a fitting ermine wrapped around my shoulders taken from That short tailed weasel that kills by delivering An accurate bite to the back of a prey's neck, An appropriate partner for me so to speak. Maybe so, but never mind, “A lady of rare beauty and gracefulness” the Tatler hailedWhen we bought some land with an old house and charming wellSurrounded by a square coquina shell rock wall.Soon Edward and I took off again. Why? you may ask, but that will remain my secret. I returned alone two years later Divested of my jewelry, ermine coatAnd one tall husband who despite rumors that he died, Had the strange habit of disappearing and reappearing,But all was not lost For in my travels I acquired a new treasure,Spanish documents to prove the landing of Ponce de Leon,None other, mind you well, on the very property we had purchased, And there discovered the Fountain of Youth, Where he laid stones in the form of a cross, fifteen by thirteenTo indicate that blessed year 1513 When he discovered my backyard!Building an archway entrance, I charged ten cents a glassFor water that gave hope of Eternal Youth to all!Then along comes stuffy spiteful Emily Wilson, Of failing health, no less,And much in need of youth-giving water Displaying her many documents to prove it was all a scam. No one listened!And why should they, for in 1909, there it was For all to read in the newspaper, For the St. Augustine Record laudedThe evidence I had unearthed in the form of a parchment That told the whole tale of Ponce de Leon’sDiscovery, the spring well, Stones in the form of a cross,

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A document the Record proclaimed a “genuine relic Of the earliest date in St. Augustine history”!So Luella Day McConnell, Diamond Lil herself Prevailed o’er all detractors. And why not? Though I died living dangerously in a motor accidentYou find me here today, young, fair, witty,A feisty female, crazy like an ermine. As ever!

(Diamond Lil remains on stage in static pose while the other actors parade on stage)

Diamond Lil:And now let me introduce my guests All Hail my nightly friends!

Chorus: Welcome all. We are the Ghosts of St. Augustine

Actor 1: ‘Tis the hour!

The full moon flits between dark clouds

Casting eerie shadows for our spells

And unnatural hauntings about the streets,

Above the rooftops, around tall pinnacles.

Chorus: Welcome all. We are the Ghosts of St. Augustine

Actor 2: Gathered here to entertain with tales of wonder

: Since that fateful time when Ponce de Leon,

Who had accompanied Columbus on his

Second voyage west, set sail from Puerto Rico

Actor 3: In search of Bimini to the north hoping

To find spring waters so curative, it was said,

Actor 4: That an old person bathing therein would

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Regain his youth!

Chorus: Rejoice. You are here friends!

Chorus: Welcome all. We are the Ghosts of St. Augustine

(Exit the cast except for Aviles and Diamond Lil, the Narrator)

Narrator Diamond Lil: Ah yes, my ghosts! You all know that quiet dreamy little Áviles Street, don’t you? Well here comes the original Pedro Menendez de Áviles who founded St. Augustine in 1565.

Pedro Menendez de AvilésI, Pedro Menendez de Aviles y Alonso de la Campa, First commissioned by the Holy Roman Emperor To drive corsair pirates from the coast of Spain, Looting and sinking their ships, killing the infamous Jean Alphonse in hand to hand combat when we Boarded his caravela, was proclaimed leader,Adelantado, Governor of Florida to drive out theFrench Huguenots, adherents of the new religionWho had begun to settle there; convert the IndiansTo the Holy Roman Catholic faith; establish a colony,And appropriate the new world for His Majesty King Philip 11 of Spain. I crossed the Atlantic In haste knowing that a French fleet was also leavingFor the same destination but ran into a great storm That scattered my armada, and finally sighted the Coast of Florida on August 28 planting the cross With holy mass being said by Father Lopez. Making friends with the noble Timucua nationWe built our first fort, naming it San Augustín For it was the feast day of that great philosopherWho conceived the idea of a just war waged by aBesieged sovereign to restore peace to his domain.But there ahead of us in the harbor was my quarryJean Ribault sent by Admiral Gaspard de Coligny Of France with reinforcements for their colony at Fort Caroline built in 1564 on the St. John’s River.

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Luck was on our side as the French forces were Divided when Ribault’s fleet was driven south onA great nor’easter leaving their fort poorly fortified.Led by Indian friends we hacked our way north Through thick jungle in constant rain to findThe sentinels asleep before dawn believing noOne could attack in such tempestuous weather. In a fierce battle we killed 132 Frenchmen, their Commander fled and in the Kings name I called That place Fort Mateo returning to St. Augustine In triumph where we sang the Te Deum Laudamus In honor of God’s holy victory for Spain. ThenPraise God, the Indians told me, that Ribault’s Fleet had foundered. I marched south to meet Two hundred starving Huguenot’s who upon Peaceful surrender had their hands tied behindTheir backs at Matanzas Inlet, Place Of SlaughtersAnd killed them ten by ten by ten, while repeatingThe same procedure a few days later when Ribault Arrived with 150 more. Oh, by the way, I did spare The French Catholics and musicians for I loved a tune With trumpet, harp and fiddle as did the Timucua With whom I talked for long hours persuading them To live in peace among themselves as with Spain Having them converted to the Holy Faith by manyPriests I requested be sent from Spain to attend to Sacred affairs in St. Augustine’s City of God while As Captain General of the West I managed mundane History in the City of Man establishing the authority And law of my King Philip to whom I was mostLoyal building forts and colonies all around the coastOf Florida, and when I died my spirit came to rest inSt. Augustine, where I still watch over its good fortune.Long live Spain!

Diamond Lil Narrator:When tricked into taking a Timucua Chieftain’s ugly sister, Princess Antonia for a wife, the great Adelantado did not do too much cooing in her ear.

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Princess Antonia

Yes, Menendez loved a harpist, fiddler And that silly dwarf who sang and danced, But what a tardy lover! Instead of taking me, Princess Antonia,His new Timucua bride to bed, he had me Whisked off to Havana for catechism lessons With the nuns! Is it possible the great invader Was put off by this bride, in her late thirties, Often shunned by Timucua warriors Who were startled by the long black hairs Sprouting from my upper lip, like a catfish?Then one day Menendez sailed into HavanaAnd I fluttered many a loving eye in his directionBut my tardy lover kept his distance. What shame! I failed to stir his romantic desires,And when I told him of my dearest wish, he pointed To a protective cross worn upon his chest In battle, declaring that he had sworn not To be with his wife for eight days!What a cockamamie tale!Thinking that he planned to leave Havana Before the eight day while sleepingWith a young lusty Spanish lover,I sneaked into his room at night To find him alone, snoring like a hog! She’s beneath the bed, I thought droppingTo my knees, but I found no maiden there!My ho-hum husband awoke, and roared With laughter when he saw my jealous mistake!I implored him to let me sleep In a corner of his bed so my brother Would not scorn me for failing as a wife, But I was sent away unsated. Great conqueror, indeed!

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Diamond Lil Narrator:St. Augustine was to see many a struggle for it’s land, beating off corsair pirates, French forces from the sea, British armies from the north. One British sailor facing the horrible garrote, a stick used for strangling enemy sailors in the Plaza, seems to have experienced a divine intervention.

Andrew Ranson: The Hanging in the PlazaIn the late sixteen hundredsWhen pirates preyed upon Spanish ships weighed downWith gold, silver and gemsThe Anastasia Island patrolFound me, a British seamanShipwrecked with eleven mates.‘What? Me? Andrew Ranson? A pirate? Not bloody likely mate!” The Spanish court did not Agree and they paraded me, Stiff upper lip and allTo St. Augustine’s Plaza Where a tall pole with a tiny hole Just about the level of the neckAwaited my arrival as didHundreds of those gentle townsfolkWho came to root for aTriumphant el dar garrote.Tied up without a hoodSo all could see my painThey pushed a rope through That little hole and secured itAbout my scrawny neckAnd bound it round and roundA long stick behind the poleAnd as the drums did roll and roll, The soldiers twist the stick

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Once, they twist it twiceMy eyeballs began to bulgeMy tongue broke through my teethMy knees did buckle as downI reached in to my pocketPulling out a rosary bead To end my days with god‘Can this be a British Protestant Who says a Catholic prayer?The local priest cried outBut no one listened when they Gave another twist to my garroteThen another and another, that was fiveWhen upon the sixth and fatal turn As I told my third Hail MaryTo the Blessed Virgin pureOh how hard I prayed!The rope did burst asunderPermitting me to slump to the ground.The soldiers began to prepare a new Garrotte, but the priest ran to my sideAnd gave me the protection of the churchWhere I recovered with the help of theGovernor’s daughter who brought food From his table in her lace hanky, no less.My good fortune was proclaimed an act Of god, and later by Papal decree I got my Freedom, married the Governor’s daughterAnd as a skilled stone mason helped buildThe great Castillo de San Marcos. SomeFools joke that I died a free man by “some twist of fate”, but when drinkingWith my British friends, I proudly whisper“That bloody rope was Spanish made”

Diamond Lil Narrator:The Minorcan community came in 1777, bringing their own unique culture and faith to St. Augustine during the period of British control.Many an Irish migrant also found a home away from home in this ancient city.

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The Nun and the SoldierMaggie Hunter is my name, an Irish nurseCome to St. Augustine to comfort the sick, Embalm the dead, but I had the most wonderful,Dreadful experience while caring for a bedridden Minorcan Grandmother on St. George’s StreetLet me tell you, every word, ‘tis trueI was more terrified than she that nightWith hurricane winds howling like a BansheeBless us and save us, I crossed myself many a timeBut her grandson seemed not to carePlaying all the time with a silly new fandangled board game.I thought I should bring the old lady a cup of milk To calm the nerves, but as I walked down the corridor I spied a ghostly nun upon her knees in prayerBeside the bed, and shook to my inner soul‘God have mercy’, I did pray, running back To the grandson who told me calmly He was glad to hear the nun from Spanish times Was there that night to bring Grandma through the storm.‘Mother of God, what kind of people are these?’I thought, ‘that live with the spirit-world in attendance?’And crept back along the corridor Once more in hopes of seeing my otherworldly Partner, the nun, only to find the grandmotherAlone, a serene smile across her white faceAs she lay calmly stretched out upon the bed‘Surely the nun did comfort her’ I saidCrossing myself once more though not in fearFor now I knew that I had help in caring for the sick.The storm did rage through the night, next day And yet another night and day,I did not see the nun again.Then on the third night as I brought a bowl of soupTo Grandma’s side, I spied a handsome soldier At her door, dressed up in colors bright.Another ghost for sure!I ran to the grandson with the news To see him leap up and run past me

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Down the corridor and fall upon his knees Crying by his dead Grandma’s bed.“She always said that the nun would appearWhen she was feeling bad, but when her time Was up, a soldier from the fort would come To see her safely to the other world.”That was the last I saw of the soldier Or the nun but in my work as nurseI always feel their wholesome presence When tending to an ill or failing soulIn my new home, St. Augustine.

Diamond Lil Narrator:Mary Evans, 1730-1792 hailed from South Carolina but made her fortune in St. Augustine with the help of two husbands and a pub in The Oldest House, as for her third and youthful husband…he was a disaster.

Mary Evans 1730-1792Born Mary Evans, in South CarolinaI arrived in St. Augustine 1763As the Spanish handed over FloridaTo the British. A respectable midwife I made a good living, married once, And then again to men who grew my Wealth in land, slaves and livestock, Managing a tavern at the Oldest House Near St. Francis Barracks where soldier’s Pay was squandered on my beer! But when my second husband diedFollowing the return of Spanish ruleThis wise and wealthy woman of fifty-sixMarried a dashing young IrishmanJohn Hudson who was half my age.The blither drank and gambled awayMy fortune, and destroyed our good nameFor, in the public Plaza no less, the rascal Wiped his buttocks with the royal edict Ordering all foreigners to swear allegiance To Spain, earning him a month in jail

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And our banishment from the town!But I toughed it out and survived His many betrayals with the help Of friends leaving behind a hansomEstate when I died in 1792

Diamond Lil Narrator:In 1822 Florida became a US Territory. Soon afterwards the white settlers wanted their government to move the Seminoles west of the Mississippi. Many Indians resisted trying to hold on to their lands. Though destined not to succeed, the rebellion was not without its own macabre form of merriment in St. Augustine’s history.

Forbes Theatrical Troupe and the Seminole Warrior, Wild Cat

Forbes, of Forbes Theatrical Troupe here, to tellA tale of great courage, slaughter on Picolata Road And of course, much jollity in St. Augustine!In 1833, Coacoochee, known to whites as Wild CatEscaped from his cell in the Castillo San MarcoTo lead the Seminole warriors on Christmas Day Against United States soldiers in the largest battle Of the Second Seminole War at Lake Okeechobee,And then disappear into the everglades with their women And children only to reappear now here, now thereIn blood-thirsty attacks around north-east Florida.Scheduled for a two-week performanceIn St. Augustine, I travelled safely from Savannah By ship with the gentle ladies of course, While sending the cast with all paraphernalia Down the St. John’s River to PalatkaFrom whence they travelled east Along Picolata Road where they were targeted By the Seminole Wildcat, May 23, 1840. Alas the Seminole attack was only too successful. We lost one performer, along with four unhappy travelers And the wagons, all unfortunately, full of costumes For a two-week performance in St. Augustine!

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But undaunted, I and the remainder of our troupe Fulfilled the contract at Mr.Wharton’s building Where we were pleased to perform such titillating Artistic treats as “The Honeymoon”, “Othello, The Moor of Venice”, “The Secret”, “Venice Preserved” and “The Review”, Before departing with great fanfare! But let me tell you that our success on stageWas to have a follow-up when some time later Wild Cat and his Seminole warriors Appeared triumphantly once moreOn a hill overlooking Picolata Road This time arrayed in our Shakespearean costumesPlundered from the ill-fated wagons Provoking much hilarity in St. Augustine!

Diamond Lil continues: An even greater war would follow.

The Battle Hymn of the Republic can be sung by the cast offstage.

Diamond Lil Narrator continues:When Florida State opted for the Confederacy, Union troops occupied St. Augustine even as many of her sons gave their blood for the South. Some became renowned Confederate Generals. Meanwhile, back home, the women of St. Augustine did mightily in support of the rebel cause as we shall hear.

(General Edmund Kirby Smith and his mother have come on stage and the spotlight is now focused on the General)

General Edmund Kirby Smith

My name is General Edmund Kirby Smith, Called “Seminole’ by my fellow cadets At West Point for I was born in a coquina building By the corner of Aviles Street and Artillary Lane. I often dream’t of being an Episcopalian Minister A man of God and peace, but these feelings were

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Suppressed when I experienced the violence of our Mexican war and then was wounded in both shoulders During a cavalry charge at Manassas or what the Yankees called the first Bull run in support of the Gallant Stonewall Jackson who saved the day. Later while in command of Trans Mississippi West, Cut off from the Confederacy the day Vicsburg fell I was a mere thirty nine years of age, but I governed The region well, assuming civil powers, sending Cotton abroad to buy machinery and manufacture Goods that were sold to England for shoes, arms And cloth to make this western outpost, ‘Kirby Kingdom’ as it was called The most productive in the Confederacy Even as my mother was run out of occupied St. Augustine for resisting the hand of the Oppressor at seventy seven years of age. Ah yes, despite such gallantry, The Confederacy collapsed, leaving me A General without troops, and soon forgottenBut the house where I was born is now home To St. Augustine’s Historical Research Library

(The General remains on stage, but the spotlight shifts to his mother)

Frances Kirby Smith, 1785-1875That was my son you just heard,General Edmund Kirby Smith,A Confederate through and throughLike myself, Mrs. Frances Kirby Smith, Gentle lady that I was. Though I hailedFrom Connecticut in 1820, I was noYankee, and cursed the day a Union ArmyOccupied St. Augustine even before Florida State opted for the rebel cause, for we wereBetrayed from within and I was known to say “That Northern abolitionists freely walked St. Augustine’s streets enjoying the Southern Climate, while hating the Southern people”.

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So began their vile attempt to exterminate us all, Forcing me to live under martial law, with picketsAt every corner, blocking all communication With the countryside, prohibiting movement After nightfall, leaving us without provisions Unless we took an oath of allegiance. What me? Swear allegiance to the devil himself? Never!My son begged me to curtail my acerbic tongueBut how could I do so, for we suffered the fistOf an oppressor that pulled the rope tighter and Tighter around our necks each day, but the women Of St. Augustine found ways to fight back, in sewing Clubs that made uniforms, orchestrating mail transportTo our boys, and as for myself, I arranged entertaining Evenings for the Union officers, plied them with wine, Crawfish tails, and hushpuppies to loosen their tongues, While I passed the news of planned maneuvers to our Military commanders! But then by order of Col. BellSuch treason by the women of St. Augustine was to bePunished with jail, and in 1863 a letter from UnionHeadquarters demanded that I, Mrs. Smith and others be Removed from town and obliged to live among those with Whom we sympathized. So they got me in the end. A rabble-rouser indeed! What rot these Yankees write! I pleaded my age, 77, and the doctor wrote of my ill-health, But in the end I had to go, though not for long, and when The war was over, a fiery Mrs. Smith known for her love Of Southern gentility returned to resist the destructive Carpetbagger’s so-called Reconstruction during the last Ten years of life.

(Mother and son exit as a dashing young lady comes onstage)

Mary Dolores, “Lola” SanchezOur poor father languished in the Castillo de San MarcosA suspected Confederate believed to have informationVital to the Union cause and though we all gave allegianceTo the South my sisters and I, little Lola Sanchez did smile, Feigning interest in many a Yankee soldier fair, at timesHaving them o’er for dinner at our farm outside Saint Augustine.

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Then one night as we prepared supper for our officer guestsTheir plan to attack a Confederate camp was overheard,So while my sisters chatted up those men, telling them dinnerWas delayed, I saddled a great bay mare, and holding downThe reins, I urged her on as she bent and flexed those powerful legs To gallop off across the marshy land, My long trailing skirt swirling about her flanks, Racing through the forest between tall treesJumping o’er felled branches and mossy dykes. ‘Where is Lola,’ those soldiers asked my sisters back at home.‘She’s busy in the kitchen. You know. That’s what women do,”My sisters smiled in reply. But their little Lola under a full moon was crossing Moccasin CreekAnd rode on with horse hoofs digging into the rain-drenched ground To meet the reds, brave boys all, whose only crime lay In defending our constitutional right to secession.Warning them of the pending hit,I quickly waved farewell, riding back again, My bay mare drenched in sweat and mud. Oh, how her neck arched up with pride when I patted That long shaggy mane as we swept into our barn.Splashing water on my hot flushed cheeks,I put on the finest dress, powdered my browAnd strode into that dining room with a massive joint of meat Upon an oval plate that kept those Yankee men in blue So damned content they never did suspect That the gentle sex could equal the deeds of men in battleOr match those of some snooty chef adorned in gros bonett,You know folks, the tall white hat worn by master cooks, All men of course!

(I Wish I Was in Dixie is sung offstage by the cast)

TEN MINUTE INTERMISSION

(The Water is Wide is sung offstage by the cast)

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Diamond Lil Narrator:From the first days of St. Augustine’s history many Irish found their way here. They came as soldiers and officers serving with the Spanish Crown. Others were Roman Catholic priests, like Father Miguel O’Reilly. Yet others of less renown served as saintly nurses like Maggie Hunter, while some were not quite so religious. One such man, Captain David Dean O’Keefe skippered boats to St. Augustine from Savannah until the civil war broke out, and found himself a beautiful Minorcan bride. However an Irish temper landed him in big trouble.

Captain David Dean O’Keefe

In the middle of the dread potato famine When many wretches died I left my lonely Irish mum in 1848 bent on fame and fortuneTo Captain the steamer Annie Sims which sailed Between Savannah and St. Augustine From whence came Catherine, my bride, A Minorcan lass with oval face, olive skin, Full lips, Castillian nose, long black hair And the most beautiful big eyes I loved To kiss, but life was very hard for her Among the Irish day laborers that worked The docks and railroad in the world of Captain David Dean O’Keefe, that’s me, Her red-haired man of six feet four inchesAnd I can tell you in all honesty now That it broke my heart to sail away As first mate on the Belvedere in 1870, But what was I to do, for in a fit of rage I had thrown a man overboard in anger And could not wait to know his fate, Fatal to be sure! Indeed it was my Second such offence, and I took my leave.Shipwrecked off the reefs of Yap IslandI began to trade with China, after first makingMy fortune out of highly valued stone money! ‘Tis true. The Yapese would travel 250 milesOf treacherous sea to Palau island in outrigger Canoes to quarry giant donut-shaped disks of

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Calcite carved with paltry instruments of shell, Using a hole in the center to carry the heavy Load back to their rafts on a wooden pole. So I offered the use of my Chinese junk, Named Catherine of course to make theirJourney safe and brought them cutting tools In exchange for dried copra, and sea cucumbersHighly valued in China. Soon I became a legend,Named “His Majesty O’Keefe, King of Yap.”Renowned for my Irish temper, during skirmishes With pirates, and in angry feuds with German, Spanish dealers that I challenged during thirty years Until in 1901 when I died at sea, battling the Greatest typhoon ever seen in the life of that luckyIrish lad, Captain David Dean O’Keefe.

Diamond Lil Narrator:The Catholic Church flourished in the early days due to St. Augustine’s Spanish past. However, despite Captain Menendez de Aviles efforts at Matanzas Inlet to keep Protestants at bay, the arrival of the British, the Spanish sale of Florida to the United States in 1821 for a paltry five million dollars, and the arrival of Union Forces in the city brought a new and more mixed religious population to the first coast.

One of St. Augustine’s most saintly Catholic spirits was that of Father Felix Varela. Lauded by Jose Marti the liberator of Cuba from the Spaniards, and then beatified by the Catholic Church, Father Felix Varela is today buried in his beloved Havana.

Father Felix Varela

Born in my beloved Havana 1788,Baptized Felix Varela,I was orphaned at six, but taken toSaint Augustine, land of the MinorcansBy my grandfather, Dom Bartolomé, The newly appointed commander of the Cuban forcesGarrisoned at the Castillo San Marco

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In a town devastated by twenty yearsOf British rule, and there, this slight, asceticWarm-hearted studious boy came to see The rule of power enforced from above Through violent bayonet and sword, And the cruel indignity of slavery, A man-made world badly in need of reformAnd this formation of my spirit, aided byA gracious mentor, Father Miguel ‘O Reilly, Led me to refuse a military, political career And chose instead to enter the seminaryIn Havana where I applied my thinking in ardent Discussions of the progressive ideas that permeated Cuban youth at the time, and then as priest,Professor played a leading role In Cuba’s quest for independence.Such was the receptivity and excitement Of the hour that when I launched my classIn Political Economy and Constitutional Law,A very dull topic you might think,There were 193 persons in attendanceTo debate the issues, promoting the emergence of an Informed and robust Cuban citizenry actively Engaged in the development of their societyTo end years of Spanish despotism. But all too soon I was sent a Cuban Deputy To the Spanish Cortes, a parliament Where I spoke ardently in favor of an independentCuban government with continued ties to Spain,Sought support for the abolition of slavery, And the same education for men and women.But Ferdinand V11, King of Spain did not Enjoy being a prisoner of the CortezAnd joining a Holy Alliance of European Monarchs bentOn the restoration of despotic governmentHe invited French troops to overthrow the Spanish oppositionDecreeing all members of the Cortez guilty of treasonAnd so, in 1823 I left for New York, never again toSet foot in Cuba though in my new American homeI spoke out for Cuban independence, this time without

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Spanish suzerainty, or for that matter any ties to Foreign powers that might subvert Cuban sovereignty.But little by little, the Cuban candle of progress, The hopeful spirit of independence was snuffed out, Progressive priests, bishops, institutional leaders were silenced,Suppressed, forced into exile and replaced by reactionariesIn every nook and cranny,So gradually I turned my attention To support an impoverished Catholic New York Irish, Italian, Polish, Spanish immigrantsReviled, persecuted by Nativist AmericansWho railed against “romish corruptions”, “monkish inventions”,And Varela’s famous vigor was channeled in a new directionEven as astma and respiratory ailments Wracked that oh so frail body, I continued to attend The suffering faithful by day, and write by candlelight In restrained but firmly reasoned defense of the Catholic faith That powered my soul until the body gave outForcing me to return to the milder climate Of St. Augustine where I died 1853 in povertyAnd as per my request, was buried without a time-defying coffinIn Tolomato Cemetery, even as Felix Varela’s spirit and ideas Have endured and overcoming the passage of timeThey continue to inspire hope In a truly free, independent Cuban people.

During the Civil War, the first Catholic Bishop of St. Augustine openly sided with the rebel cause. Though a devout and holy man who served rich and poor and Yankee alike, it was a great disappointment to all when he was so ill-fated in death despite the best efforts of the Mother Superior who tended to the funeral arrangements.

Mother Superior and The Bishop’s Tomb

I’m sure dear friends our Bishop did nought in lifeTo deserve his fate in death, nor did I, Mother Superior That fatal day I oversaw the buriel of the first Bishop of Florida, The Most Reverend Jean Pierre Augustin Mercillin Verot,

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A saintly man of many good works, For though a champion of the rebel’s causeHe took his priests to serve Union soldiers At the dreaded Andersonville prison camp in Georgia.Oh, how I admired this man who died in 1876During the sweltering month of June.With a multitude of celebrities in attendance,We had done our best to preserve The corpse laying it in a holeWith sawdust and ice, which unfortunatelyDid melt! What could I do dashing to and fro,But order an early funeral service Placing the body in a metal casket with glass on top To permit a viewing during the ceremony in a Crowded church that turned into a hot and humid oven So our Bishop did explode, spewing up into the air Like a geyser shattering the glass and horror of all horrors, Filling that sacred space with such a putrid smell That I ran hither and thither in the face of this Unreasonable event, Holy Mother of God. I orderedEveryone out though most had already taken hastily To the street in shock and awe, disgust and fear, Rushing for the doors. Those with stomach for the job Cemented the casket shut, and soon thereafter I became Quite insane, died in fact, and began to haunt theDark streets always with a sense of something left Undone in life, begging the good Lord for explanation Of injustice done to rebel Bishop Jean Verot.

Diamond Lil Narrator:

People came from many a corner of the world to live in St. Augustine.  Some had a past they wanted to leave behind.  One such, Abbie Brooks, 1830-1914 was a most respected lady in our town. She had a sad life, and a life-long secret kept to herself, until now!

Abbie M. Brooks 1830-1914

In 1870, at forty years of age

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I penned these words in my diary:“What service have I rendered to my God?Who has benefited by my presence?”In such angry despair, I forged a lonely path,Daring to be a different kind of female,Visiting every nook and cranny of Florida And Cuba, and in 1880, published scintillatingDescriptions of the exotic places I had been In Petals Plucked from Sunny ClimesUsing the pseudo name, Silvia Sunshine!Then I settled down in St. AugustineA lady in her late sixties known to all As Abbie Brooks, an unusual lady Some may have mused, but I joined The Memorial Presbyterian ChurchAnd sold my scholarly research on SpanishFlorida to the Library of Congress, publishing The Unwritten History of Old St. AugustineIn 1907, and then gave up teaching to Pursue a career in the canvassing trade, Targeting buyers for a book-selling firm. (Begins to look about)

And now I can tell you all what no oneKnew in St. Augustine, for I was Forced by fate to be a mystery ladyKeeping my past a total secret in this small town,Though some asked, who is Abbie Brooks, Where did she come from, who were her parents?Silvia Sunshine indeed! Not a soul knew my real name, Lindley, Nor where I was born, Pennsylvania, Daughter to a strict Presbyterian, But I, Lord have mercy, conceived a baby girl Outside of wedlock at twenty-five, And had to give up my little Ortie for adoption, Never to see that child, my parents or sisters again, Not to speak of my secret lover! Hushhhh! No one, no one shall EVER know that name, And as I wrote in 1865, my mistake will notBe washed away even “with tears of blood”.

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It was hard to move on from those troubled times,But move on I did, only to suffer an unrequitedLove affair with a traveling salesman in 1870And then found a certain lonesome happinessIn writing, though as I said in my diary, I didLittle “by which my name may be perpetuated.”Yet, here I am, a Spirit in St. AugustineOften seen by visitors to 50 Water Street,Home of Isabella and Charles Hopkins,Founder of The Record Company Where I spent the last years of my life.Thanks be to God for mercy given..

Diamond Lil Narrator:The town of St. Augustine eventually came upon bad times despite its glorious history. But all that was turned around with the arrival of Henry Morrison Flagler who changed the city forever, though not without input from other spirits of St. Augustine.

Henry Flagler(Throughout the Henry Flagler sequence of personalities he acts as the new narrator/introducer)Henry Flagler:While often playing the mischievous ghost these daysIn life I was a serious man, with stony-faced demeanor,Bushy mustache, my hair parted down the middle, Always contented, but never completely satisfied.‘Henry Flagler likes things done his way’, some said In criticism of my driven ways nurtured in Presbyterian Communities that rewarded patriotism, sobriety, family, Hard work, honesty, thrift, a family background in whichI took pride and one that stood by me personallyWhen, with one bag filled with all I possessed And some change in the pocket of a home-spun pants I turned my back on New York State to live with the Harkness family in Ohio, and see the billions roll in From Standard Oil, even as I was nurtured by

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The warmth of my first wife, Mary Harkness.Despite the joy we had those first few years of marriageWe lost dear Carrie, our charming three year-oldAnd then poor Mary was confined to homeAs was I, during the last seventeen years of Her sickly life that ended with vile tuberculosis!In vain we had gone to Florida, hoping for a cureAssisted by the flamboyant nurse, Blue eyed flaming red-headed Ida Alice, Who oft’ inserted herself between us two.One day, not long after you were goneIda Alice took me by surprise, when, As I sat reading my newspaper, she stormedInto the room and stood, hands upon her hipsBosoms fully expanded and declared“I want to marry you!”No doubt she liked my bank account!What could the powerful Henry Flagler do In the face of such a feminine assault but rise up And with eyes lowered to the ground, Meekly say “Yes!” and later at the altar, squeak “I do!”It was in her breathtaking company that I, Who had never been around the world Came to see Saint Augustine, at that timeA mere hospital for consumptive, asthmatic Yankees,With spittoons at every corner,Full of boarding houses where lodgings and meals were cheap, And empty wooden coffins banked up at the Trolley Depot Brought south by the wretched soulsWho did not expect to make it back north alive.But I rose up above all this desolation one day When Franklin Waldo Smith took me to the rooftop At Vila Zorayda where I was smittenWith awe and wonder on seeing the breathtaking Expanse of river, sea, marshlands surrounding His fabulous Moorish design, and quickly Imagined my extravagant Florida adventureWhich business colleagues thought so foolhardyWhile I believed in the possibility of an American RivieraWhere rich elites could flee cold winters

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In the north, and enjoy fun days and nights by the sea At Flagler’s Hotel, built with architectural motifs of Rome, And Spain, medieval castles, cathedrals tall, its two lofty spires Towering o’er the little town that Sidney Lanier called dull, Worthy of a yawn before I came and created the famed Renaissance atmosphere with grace and eleganceThat enchanted all, Uh, oh. Here’s that stupid Franklin Waldo Smith.

Henry’s light dims, as Waldo Smith begins his tirade:I bet you rarely hear of me since they talk incessantly Of that boring millionaire Henry Flagler When speaking of St. Augustine, But who launched the Spanish-Moorish renaissance Changing the physical appearance of this town?Franklin Waldo Smith, that’s who.Yes, ME. ME. ME.Who brought reinforced poured concrete to America?Franklin Waldo Smith, that’s who.Yes, ME. ME. ME.All this I did before anyone heard of Henry FlaglerBeginning the construction of Villa Zorayda in 1882,An architectural gem that won ME national acclaim!And all they talk of today is the Flagler Era! Flagler’s damned American Riviera!Flagler’s bloody Standard Oil!And on, and on and on! Lights dim on a muttering Waldo Smith.Henry Flagler is highlighted again.Henry:I launched Hotel Ponce de Leon, January 10, 1888. An instant success, for sure, with every distinguishedGuest imaginable to enjoy the lavish splendor of My Hotel. Dammit! Here he comes again!Waldo Smith is highlighted, as Henry’s light is dimmedWaldo:Oh, yes, that oh so clever Henry Flagler hired ME To supervise the construction of Ponce de Leon, But when I went into competition building The Casa Monica Hotel, that fabulous Moroccan jewel

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Named after the mother of St. Augustine, Old Henry beat me to the postHolding the grand opening of his HotelWith much fanfare and many celebrities Just five days before I could launch mineSince the delivery of my furniture by Flagler’s railroad Was delayed! Yes, “delayed”, forcing me to openCasa Monica in a city emptied out of celebrities!Ohhhhh! What humiliation!And when I went belly up, that rascal Henry Forced me to sell the Casa Monica with all Furnishings at 25 cents to the dollar originally spent. Then he had the gall to re-name it The Cordova Hotel, Going on to make heaps and heaps of money.Franklin Waldo Smith’s ideas. Henry Flagler’s cash.Franklin Waldo Smith’s innovations. Henry Flagler’s fame.Waldo Smith lights go off: Henry comes into view:But what a change it was for thisSober, somber Presbyterian, overseeing A playground of bacchanalian excess Let me tell you now, what I dare not speak of then, Of meals provided by the Hotel’s kitchen to a lusty brothel Down the street frequented by my illustrious guests!

Miss Gracie Belle

(Gracie Belle has taken up her place as Henry Flagler speaks)

Hello my friends, welcome to Le Grande Chalet,A house for Ladies of Eden, here to please theGentlemen of St. Augustine in good standing.This evening, Henry Flagler’s chef has sent us Paté en Croûte, oysters on the half shellTo perk up our older guests, Duck Breasts with Pears, Carré D’Agneau, Salmon Au Champagne, Crepes with Red Current Jelly, Lady Finger pudding,Sorbét aux Fruits de la Passion, and thoseScrumptious little cream puffs I love!

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No wonder lusty males, fleeing their angelic wives, Come in droves to Gracie Belle’s (despite the More convenient secret cubicles on the Third floor of Flagler’s Riviera Hotel)In pursuit of my charming hostesses dressed in Haute couture, without old-fashioned constricting Girdles, well draped to display loose hips and derriere.Oh what games these gentlemen like to play!There’s Lily, the housemaid who looks so pale!Claire Marie the schoolteacher with horned- Rimmed glasses and a disciplinary ruler! Shannon the childlike virgin nurse dressed in white!Lest I forget, we have dear Mimi, whose youthReflects the splendor of this house, and ‘tis no wonder All adore her, though she must stay away from That hansom fancy talking, good for nothing Who comes early, stays late, spends nothing And upsets paying customers with his caustic wit. As for my French-speaking Mademoiselle,Mais oui, Yvette, c’est très élégante, c’est perfecte, But you’re attracted to that creepy Frenchman In jodhpurs, Sacre bleu! However the bore’s a big spender, ButYvette must know that yawns do not become A southern belle even if she does speak French! Then there’s our latest addition, Rosalie Marie.She’s always late! But never mind, the girl Is standing in for that silly Blanche who despite Many airs and graces found herself too far-gone To serve in this house of women without vows! This is what I tell my girls. No spitting!No leaning over the banisters displaying Awesome female wares to guests belowWhen bringing a gentleman downstairs.None of “those” gestures, please. No profanity.No raucous laughter, for this is Spanish Street St. Augustine, and we don’t want to remind The natives of where yaw’l came from. No talk of the South. ‘Tis Yankees have the money.Flirtatious, yet chaste demeanor is allowedAnd you may exchange “significant” looks.

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Be quiet, respectable, lady-like, the sweet Essence of southern social refinement!Light their cigars. Keep their glass full.Smoke a fine cigar when offered by a guest,Drink my most expensive champagne.That’s the style for this elegant house,The best south of the Mason Dixie lineWith leather sofas, imported crystal, sterling silver,Italian marble. Why I’ll tell yaw’l, ‘tis true,The rich Mr. James Barton took his young lady Straight from here to church, and whisked her Off to New York for their honeymoon Where she became the toast of the city. But attention. Please. Listen. Here comes No less than the world’s leaders like gallopers In a cavalry charge at the Bull Run. Put on a smile! For remember girls, in this house, Whatever a gentleman wants, he gets!

Henry is highlighted as Miss Gracie Belle leaves the stage

Henry:But my extravagant socialite wife, Ida Alice, renowned For her uncontrollable temper grew crazier by the dayAnd I, Shhhhhhhhhh, did have a secret mistressIn the West Tower when Ida appeared unexpectedlyThat winter season forcing me to lock up my Mistress, who poor thing was so claustrophobic That one night she hanged herself in our boudoir. Ida Alice, I believe, knew naught of this While residing in a room at the bottom of the staircaseTo the West Tower, but she continued to embarrassMe while oft’ parading before Hotel guests, Totally starkers, and worse still, (looking about him) Seeking to do me in!Lights dim on Henry: Ida Alice appears on stage, holding a Ouija Board in one hand, a long sharp knife in the other.

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Spirit knockings on my Ouija board have told me it is true!Ida Alice turns to one side as if speaking to the Tzar:‘Oh beloved Tzar Nicholas of Russia, I know you love Me dearly. I too want to marry you, but what am I to doWith that boring old Henry hanging about all the time?’ Ida Alice pauses for a second, listens to her Quija board, and then speaks as if Henry had just come into her presence.Henry, Henry. Get over here. (She holds up the knife) Kneel before the blade,‘Tis, I the Tzarina who so commands you.Ah! The coward runs away.Let me teach those haughty friends of his a thing or twoFor I shall jump into his Fountain at the entranceTo the Hotel, and skinny dipping in the nude, Show them all what a real woman looks like!”Lights dim on Ida Alice:Henry:For the good of all, I retired that poor wretch to aSplendid, if expensive asylum in New York.Ida Alice appears in her asylum:Padded walls indeed! Good thing I stabbed that doctor With a scissors when committed To this hell where I pay the priceFor fooling all so well with that crazy act I put on, surrounding myself with nutty spiritualists,Talking to the dead, even the Czar of Russia! What rot! No, No! I was not deluded as they thought For on our honeymoon I fired up Henry’s Dream of a new and fabulous St. AugustineWhere I could be at the head of every eventAnd win the respect of the fashionable clientele That had always shunned and disdained me in New York.But it was all to no avail, alas, So I sought to embarrass them with every Outrageous act in Ponce de Leon Hotel.Well I enjoyed that side of the story But look where it got me!Damn that Henry Flagler.Henry:

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‘Twas sad indeed this taleBut there were lighter days at my hotel oftReported in Tatler Magazine, by my dear friend,Anna Marcotte Hughes.(Anna Marcotte M. Hughes has come onstage to take up the story)

Anna Marcotte here with a gossipy tale from The pages of Tatler Magazine about a party Of elegant ladies and gentlemen from Chicago, Guests at the Cordova Hotel where they never ceased To speak of alligators, expecting to see them on theStreets, complaining that they only saw little onesThat kids could take home in cigar boxes, and Never a sign of the dreaded six-foot Florida gators. Mr. John Conlon grew tired of all this whining that “the large ones were not seen”, spoke with a well-knownPrankster, Mr. Moorehead, and then proposed that theChicagooans should not miss the alligator race around The corridors of Ponce de Leon Hotel, offering The tourists special reserved seats! A Mrs. Perry Asked if there were no danger from the giant tails? But Mr. Conlon assured her that the gators wouldBe harnessed like a horse, the tail firmly secured To every giant galloping alligator’s back. ShowingNo fear our Chicagooans paraded across the street Giving up their tickets at the Hotel door, and ecstatic They were seated in the Rotunda, where they paid Little attention to the showy guests parading about Henry Flagler’s masterpiece, but as time went by The Chicagooans grew impatient, but were assured The race would take place, though in the courtyard Since the Hotel corridors were terribly overcrowded. The tourist party strolled amidst exotic plants and trees, Until informed by Mr. Moorehead that the race, alasCould not be held because the largest alligator hadEscaped and was running freely about the grounds!The ladies screamed, raised their skirts, and ran toTheir ‘natural protectors’, and clutching their men, They begged to be taken away, while the feisty Mr. Condon took his orange-wood stick going

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In pursuit of that dangerous creature, poking Under bushes and among the flowers for theSix-foot alligator that was nowhere to be found!Finally the ladies dropped their skirts and tiptoed offBut not before Mrs. Perry was overheard to ask a passingGuest in awe “if the dreadful alligators often got away” Unfortunately for the pranksters this gentleman was notIn on the game and he revealed to the poor indignantLadies that never was such a race about the corridorsOf the grand hotel since the ferocious alligators lived farFrom such luxurious surroundings, thank god, in murkyJungle waters and could not be harnessed like a horse!The blushing Chicagoans hurried off and we can presumeThey will do their best to return the prankish favor someOther day and thus guve us yet another Tatler tale to Please the readers of our charming Chit Chat pages.Henry:So life went on and on ‘till I met the wondrousBeauty, a New York socialiteWho would become my third wife For even though incurable insanity Wasn’t grounds for divorce, in 1901The Florida State legislature kindly Accommodated to my wish, and that same yearI married Mary Lily Kenan, A slim thirty-four years to my Not so robust seventy-four.At first we entertained European and America’s Richest, social doyennes and debutantesAt the infamous Palm Beach Whitehall MansionI gave her as a wedding present, Until I became too old for such frolics, And my lusty bride sought distraction outsideWhitehall, while entertaining less and lessAt home until that day in 1913 when I Rolled down a flight of stairs, “Fell” it was said, and soon passed awayLeaving her the richest woman in America!Ah, well, I have to admit I haven’t been too successful With the women, and there is still that other matter

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I forgot to mention, for ‘tis rumoured, And who am I to say ‘tis true or false, But the story of Ida Alice and my mistress May not be o’er, for when painters display Their fine art upon the walls of that staircaseLeading to the West Tower from Ida’s bedroom, The following morning their precious works Would appear to have been viciously Knocked to the ground. Ida Alice? My claustrophobic mistress? As for me, dear friends, my coffin Was laid on wooden supports In the grand Rotunda of Ponce de Leon HotelThat drizzly windless day with the giant doors Left open to give air to all who did attend, and then as if caughtIn hurricane winds, those doors slammed shut and I rose upAmidst steam and smoke to joyfully throw off my broken body, Circling round and round and round again until I grazed the floor Leaving a final impression of my grim, ghostly face upon a tile, And once again a great wind threw open the doors, raising me High, so I could sit upon a proud soaring spire to oversee my townAnd in nightly hauntings indulge a little energy in the lighter side of death. The past lives on in St. Augustine.

(Henry remains standing, music as the actors come onstage)

Epilogue:

Diamond Lil Narrator:

So ends this nightly phantasmagoria

Of wondrous ghosts in St. Augustine.

Chorus:

We who have shared our stories

Invite all to take pride in this land

Of eternal youth, raise up the

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Living torch of St. Augustine

And take us forward in peace

END