Henry worked his Uncle Luther’s groves since coming to Florida in “64” In “68” Henry’s mother betrayed Henry and Irish John’s
memory when she married her Yankee loving no good so and so in Ft. Myers. Retreating to the grove Henry rarely spoke to her
preferring to be alone and unwilling to change. He liked being a loner. He grew harder and tougher of mind, body and spirit.
Working and learning day by day he tried to save every days ten cent pay towards his unclear future. At sixteen the tall, wiry 190
pound youth dreamt of owning a grove. He found a spot of open range off a nice creek meandering east from Estero Bay where he
fished often. When he saved enough money he wanted to plant his own grove there. Thinking his uncle would help because Henry
was such a good manager, his dream grew. It shattered in ‘68’ when his uncle died and the company was sold to an east coast
citrus company.
Not very interested this far south the new owners knew a bargain and got it. The best asset was Henry. These small groves
produced enough to help meet the growing demand its larger east coast operations created. With Henry there, the small self
sufficient operation supported itself and created a nice profit to boot.
Operating and managing a grove consisted of a year around cycle of heavy, hot work-planting-trimming-grafting-dressing the
ground-fertilizing-watering-harvesting-crating and toting boxes to market only to start a new cycle once more.
Henry loved caring for the plants, every day he looked for anything needing his attention. Doing the paperwork kept his solitary
evenings busy. The one thing he hated was directing the grove hands. The grove workers performed pretty well except a few
uppity ones that made it bad for all. Some ran away and came back sheepishly to take a beating; others simply disappeared at
Henry’s whim as Gator bait in Moccasin Creek. He was tired of making them work, taking sass, tired of uppity black folk peeving
him. Henry knew his work hands, good, bad, lazy, or mean and he really did not enjoy killing them. It was just necessary not to
allow bad traits and habits, misbehavior or outright mutiny; this was how things were done in Florida. Now that the war was long
over it was common knowledge that in the eyes of the law “All men are created equal”. Henry knew it would happen, the hands
would feel free to leave and then who would do his labor?
One night Henry took strong action. After being informed that four of his hands planned to run off after Henry went in his house
to do book work, he waited till 10:00 at night and crept outside with his shotgun loaded with buckshot. Clinging to the shadows in
the light of the moon he crept, investigating all sounds and movements thoroughly on his way to the road leading north away
from the grove to Ft. Myers. Finding a shadowed spot behind a tree Henry waited. It did not take long for the group of men to
come by. Henry came out of the shadows in to the road ahead of them and swore “You boys go home now or go to hell!”
Two men turned and ran home and two gave Henry the rush. Henry dropped the hammer on both sides of his sawed off ten-gauge
which made a hissing snap and “BABLAMM”. Henry got up off the ground from the repercussion of the blast of powder and lead
shot. In front of him two men lay in the sugar sand quickly dying.
Henry had known those men and one was uppity but the other seemed quiet, until that night. Henry figured you never know what
is on a man’s mind. These were the first killings that required a gator powered disposal system and many followed. Finally he let
everyone left alive leave, or be forced to kill them all so why bother?
The 160 acres south of Estero called him. The nice piece of land in open “Range” was grazed occasionally by cattle owned by
Ezekiel Whitt. Not wanting to be shot, he called for permission from the old man about his plans to fence the land he wanted for
his grove.
When meeting with Old Whitt, Henry became thunderstruck by Whitt’s Granddaughter Mary Alma Whitt. Mary or her lifelong
nickname “Mollie” was a striking beauty. Mollie’s Cherokee blood lines were obvious from her translucent olive skin and coal
black hair and eyes. Also she was built like a brick chuck wagon with a very full figure that made Henry stammer. Dumb struck
Henry added her to his plans.
Mollie knew men like Henry. Murdering, raping and pillaging white eyes plagued the Indians throughout the south and anywhere
else Indians try to live. Her experience with them started years ago. As a blossoming teenager she could socialize with the town
folk occasionally but was really tied to the ranch and her protective grandfather. She escaped by marrying a foreigner from
Chicago, Jonathan Cruzski. She met him in Immokalee and quickly moved away from her Grandpa’s ranch in the Corkscrew
area of Lee County to Key West.
Beatings on a honeymoon were unusual, but John was a weird guy. He fought and screamed over dinner, what Mollie liked to eat,
wear and anything else that gave him an excuse to be a jerk. From the wedding night on Mollie had to say “Yes Sir” and ask
permission to go out in the yard, no less to town for staples and other store bought needs. If John thought she was going to
ask to go to the little general store, or church he would push her around so she would stay at home, cowering from the knowledge
more bullying would follow.
Three years of John at the Keys was enough for Mollie. It was a mistake. She could overlook his stupidity but his vile brutality
was unbearable. She had two sons with him hoping they would cause him to be more caring but he continued to treat her bad
and not care about her or the boys, only himself. The boys and Mollie could starve as long as John had whiskey and women.
He was too stupid to argue and his bullying ways being taught to his sons was too much for Mollie to bear. Heartbroken Mollie
knew this loveless existence was wrong and wasting her life. She would have to kill John to stay with her babies, not wanting
to murder she knew all was lost. In fear for her life she fled back to grandpa’s ranch and his protection now valued after this first
marriage.
Leaving her children she divorced John. This left a burning hatred for any Anglo or white eyes. If a man was from the south
there was an excellent chance he was a part breed of some sort, like half Cherokee or one quarter Cherokee. The Indian
eyes were a little squinted and easy to recognize. She could tolerate southern part breeds but white eyed folks and their
very open eyes were not to be trusted.
In the months ahead Henry worked his dream. He planted the seed for root stock and spent the money for the grafts, tools,
lumber and nails. Cheerfully he carted 500 trees that just happened to jump into his cart to his new land. He started clearing
that day. To speed the process he took some grove hands for a couple of weeks knowing no one at the company will notice
that anymore than his 500 trees.
The 160 acres is fenced from the range and shaping up as a grove transcending from Henry’s mind to reality in the dirt. Every
project Henry took on at his new grove brought satisfaction he never knew or dreamt. It is all for him, not some damn company
and the results of his efforts are impressing Henry. Once his shack was finished and the trees in the ground Henry is free to leave
the company.
As Henry was explaining to the new foreman that the old grove wagon and mule were his property, he met resistance. The new
guy was six foot tall and four foot wide. He looked like a man paid to wrestle bears or pin bulls to the ground by their horns. With
his plaid shirt and big beard he resembled Paul Bunyan. As Henry explains Uncle Luther had give them to him before he died the
foreman tells Henry that he was a thieving, drunken liar and for him to leave the premises. A fight shaped up as the two silently
scowled and waited for the eruption. Henry turned his wagon still full of tools belonging to Alabama Citrus Company around and
left without comment.
After riding a couple of minutes Henry turned around and rode back to the foreman. He was pissed he left the Yankee foreman
still standing. The new man from the east coast operations was filling his shoes very nicely. That pissed him off as well. Henry
spotted the new foreman busy working at the base of a tree Henry had planted. At 500 yards away Henry could see his horse
more than the man. Henry parked the wagon and took to his feet walking briskly in the direction of the new man. Henry had his
old .54 in one hand and his not much left bottle of rye whiskey in the other. He had on a pair of dark brown pants that were once
black but no belt, shirt, and shoes or did not care. He silently rambled closer to the unaware foreman.
At 75 yards Henry stopped. The wind blew loud and proud but it could not affect a shot almost point blank like this. He smiled and
took a breath while pulling back the hammer. Then after a quick glance of an aim he fires “BLAMM”. The huge foreman fell down
and bounced back up holding his ear. Surprisingly the ground is not shaking as the Yankee foreman jumps up and down screaming
shrilly. It was funny that Henry’s shot ended the fight it started. He only nicked the foreman’s ear yet the Yankee was incapacitated
as he just kept jumping up and down. He guessed those east coast Floridian carpet baggers lacked sand.
As the months went by Henry was around most Saturday nights bearing fruit baskets or fresh picked flowers. All this gentle
attention wore down Mollie‘s will. One time he brought a large, new white leather bound bible. He was a total gentleman and
eventually Mollie could trust him and accept his proposal for marriage. Henry was happy as hell when Mollie accepted. He
genuinely, unmistakably loved Mollie and of this there was no doubt.
She moved to a grove south of Ft. Myers and started turning her shotgun shack into a home. She eagerly learned about the
complexities of citrus trees, Moccasin Creek, and Henry. After 6 months she started to suspect she was going to have a baby.
How strange this baby or any of its siblings to come will never know their half brothers. She always would regret not cutting
Jonathan’s throat while he slept and not taking her boys.
Henry had some pine lumbered by a pony mill at Grandpa Whitt‘s ranch. Then he and Mollie built a bedroom on the little shotgun
shack and a outhouse in the yard. Henry knew how to sink a well with his horse and a tee-pee frame with rope and pipe and a few
pulleys. Now they had pitcher pumps in 3 different spots on the 160 acres. That made things easier and they wanted more. Mollie
really took to the grove and did well. Grandpa Whitt drove some prime beef critters to a half acre corral for Mollie and Henry to farm
feed for tender, tasty beef.
Mollie had good things coming, like Henry Jr. in “79” Josephine in “80”, Luther “81”, Clyde”84” Mildred in “87” and her own
sanctuary in the form of an island, Whistlers Key and plenty more kids.
She proudly told he children about their ancestry. *Ezekiel Whitt the second son of Jake who came to Florida with Andrew
Jackson to round up the Creek and Seminole Indians and send them West. Liking Florida, Jake stayed on and began rounding
up wild Spanish cattle and driving them to market in either Tampa or Punta Gorda. From those points the cattle were shipped
to Cuba. After twenty years of driving cows for his father, Zeke met his second wife, the proud and regally beautiful Wilhelmina
Carlos in Cuba delivering beef. She kept her name as was her tribe’s tradition. Zeke brought her back to the Corkscrew area
which was the home of her ancestry. They started a spread on open range which became known as the Whitt Place. Being this
far south they were not touched by the Civil War and life though tough was good. “Wilma Carlos” was a tenth generation direct
descendant of Carlos (so named by the Spaniards), the head chieftain of the Calusa Indian Tribe. This ten thousand warrior Indian
tribe defeated the Spanish troops lead by Desoto near Punta Gorda. It is not known why the Calusa chose war after earlier
allowing the Spanish to settle near the mouth of the Peace River in the late sixteenth century. The Calusa built hamlets
throughout Southwest Florida near the intercostals waterways. They also built canals between these hamlets. Known to be
gatherers and hunters their survival depended on a diet that was eighty percent fish. To be sure the large, red male warriors
and their beautiful wives clothed in Spanish moss garments had every right to rule their home since ancient times.
The ruling class was elitist and they intermarried between brothers and sisters to keep the blood lines pure or occasionally to
gain political allies to battle the other tribes of South Florida most notably the Tobaca. Women were considered equal but were
not allowed lead religion or warfare. Slavery was an economic benefit for the tribe but was reserved for commoners or captives.
They practiced a religion that called for human sacrifice, usually an unsuspecting Spaniard in the early days. Hostilities with the
Spanish ended with the arrival of the British and French who they trusted even less than the Spaniards.
Most Calusa left Florida in the middle of the eighteenth century when the American Colonist began migrating to the state. The few
that remained died fighting these new white men or the displaced and fiercely proud Seminoles and Tobaca. It is not known with
certainty that Zeke married Wilma. Wilma died in child birth with an infant son. After this misery his Daughter died and her husband
asked Zeke to raise the youngest daughter, Mary Alma or “Mollie”. Zeke raised Mollie like a daughter with the help of a ranch
hands wife. Mollies world revolved around her incredibly difficult Grandfather.
If investing in Bonita Beach is interesting to you please contact me at RIC If you would like to read all of the novel please go to CRACKERTAILS